The Path Ahead
by HeartsandEyesDelight
Summary: Be careful what you wish for.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Yeah, yeah, I know, another WIP. Don't hate me. My beta just pointed out-quite logically, might I add-that I was already writing three at a time, and that posting this one wouldn't actually take time away from the others... so she convinced me. Also in that vein-this chapter really only makes sense because of her. Thanks again, Pati.

Hope you guys enjoy this... even if I have two others I've been making you wait on. If it's any consolation, I'm already several chapters in? ...Let me know what you think. :)

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Prologue:

She had gone at Grissom's suggestion. He'd saved her job, held her hand, drawn out an explanation that was, though she hated to admit it, long overdue… but he'd been unable to reverse her suspension. So he'd suggested that she take the first vacation she'd had since she moved to Vegas. Sara was not inclined to go anywhere… flashy. She didn't want to be surrounded by people. She didn't want to emphasize that she was going on vacation alone.

She had missed San Francisco, though. She had missed all the clichéd things like the bridge and the hills, the street cars and the fog, and especially the ocean… but she'd also missed her favorite coffee shop just off the Berkeley campus that was always filled with eclectic music and young bohemians in scarves, smoking cigarettes and discussing Nietzsche. She missed the used bookstore that had been near her apartment that smelled of baking bread and was filled with dusty tomes and somewhere in the neighborhood of five overfed cats, though they were never the same ones—the owner did a lot of fostering for local animal shelters. She missed the bakery next door—the cause of the delicious aroma—and the owner, Janice, who had managed to keep the place going even through her husband's lengthy battle with cancer. Last she had heard, he was in remission, but that had been some time ago.

So after checking into a hotel in the area of her old apartment, she had spent some time relearning the sights. She drove into San Francisco to see the big things… and back in Berkeley, she walked to her old haunts. …The coffee shop was exactly as she remembered, although now smoke-free, but she felt strangely out of place there. …It took the young girl behind the counter calling her 'ma'am' for her to realize the problem—she was no longer a young, scarf-wearing bohemian discussing Nietzsche.

When she had left for Vegas, she had been.

Sure, she'd been a bit older than some of the patrons, but she'd also been a bit younger than others… It wasn't so much an age thing, though that was part of it, but a personality thing. Despite her conversion to vegetarianism, which has been perhaps the one characteristic of the new-age hippie-ism that she lacked back then, Sara had exhausted Nietzsche, given up smoking, and wore scarves primarily when she was cold.

She went to the bookstore to find it had been bought out—it now had a shiny storefront and was filled with New York Times Best Sellers instead of tattered classics and obscure novels. She was certain she would find no fluffy, chubby cats sprawled across shelves inside, and turned instead to the bakery. Janice still owned it, but she seemed… beaten down by the years. She smiled at Sara warmly and asked how she was, but she wasn't the same woman. When Sara returned the woman's inquiries, she learned the reason why—Sam had died a couple years before. The cancer had come back and hadn't responded to treatment this time. He'd been in his mid-thirties… the couple had been talking about having a baby. Sara wanted to hug the woman, but the five years since she'd seen Janice gaped between them like a yawning void, so she purchased a loaf of French bread and made her excuses, leaving in awkwardness and despair.

Sara had been questioning for some time now—all the more so with her suspension and her sense of betrayal for Catherine's part in it—whether moving to Vegas had been the right choice.

No, more than that, she'd been wondering whether _staying_ in Vegas was the right choice. She had entertained the idea of coming back to San Francisco's lab, working the dayshift again, sleeping nights, and returning to the life she'd unthinkingly left behind. Her coffee shop and her bookstore and her bakery… her friends and her city and the Sara she'd been before. San Francisco Sara might have her faults, but she was a happier person than the Vegas Sara. …Now she knew how foolish those thoughts had been. Of course people moved on—life moved on—and things she remembered as concrete had changed. Sara had changed.

She walked unhappily back to her room, wishing she'd stayed home during her week off.

The problem was that she was an insomniac used to sleeping during the day, who was now attempting to sleep at night. …She was restless and feeling claustrophobic in her little room and all she could think about was Grissom. She had moved away from this place for him. Changed her life, her personality, her future, for him. And while she had justified at the time that moving to the Vegas lab was a professional godsend… the truth was that she had not been remotely worried about her career when she had breathlessly agreed to stay in Vegas to join his team. And what did she have to show for it? …Not that she particularly wanted to fit in with the people in the coffee shop anymore or that Janice had been so close a friend or that the bookstore would not have closed whether she stayed or left… but she did feel like she had very little to show for herself since she'd gone to Vegas, professionally or personally.

Sure, she was at a better lab, but her career had gone nowhere since arriving there, despite feeling very much that she deserved a promotion. …At the very least, she and Grissom should be together by now. Wasn't that the reason he'd held her back and recommended Nick for the Lead CSI position, all that time ago? Because he didn't want people to think he was playing favorites. If her career was going to suffer for their relationship, they really ought to have a relationship.

She knew that part, at least, wasn't really her fault. He knew how she felt. Hell, he knew how _he_ felt… Hadn't she heard him admit as much to Lurie?

And she didn't believe the professional bullshit—that much, she knew, had been for the doctor's benefit, trying to connect the two and provoke a confession. Grissom hated the paperwork and hated politics even more. He wasn't ambitious and he headed up the team because it had made the most sense at the time—Catherine was the only other one on their team—or, their former team—who had been a CSI long enough to be a viable option, and she would not be a fair leader by any means. He had taken up his position for them—a martyrdom, almost—but it would not be enough to keep him from being with her. He had a decided disdain for rules he didn't agree with, Sara knew.

No—it was the age thing. Either he was convinced that she deserved someone younger or that she would eventually leave him, for someone younger. It didn't really matter which he believed—neither was true, but he wouldn't listen regardless. Hadn't she proven, time and again, that she loved him? That age was just a number and that if it hadn't meant anything when she was twenty-six and foolish—like the kids at the coffee shop—and it still meant nothing when she was thirty-three and… what? Thirty-three and unhappy… then it wasn't ever going to matter?

…If he knew that, and still clung stubbornly to his fears, there wasn't much she could do to stop him.

She climbed out of bed and into a pair of jeans, not sure where she was going, but certain she couldn't remain in the tiny hotel room. She hurried out to her car, immediately regretting her haste—she had thrown on pants, but was otherwise only clad in a tank top, and it was cold. She drove without any real sense of direction, fiddling with the radio and turning up the heat and avoiding thinking about Grissom for as long as she could… until finally the car came to a stop. She glanced up, seeing the looming outline of the bed and breakfast in which she'd grown up, and shuddered. Even after she'd moved from Harvard, back into the San Francisco area… she hadn't come back to Tomales Bay.

She hadn't wanted to come back to this place, and yet here she was.

A sign in front told her the home had been on the market, and had recently been sold. A glance at the darkened house told her that she had a good chance that the previous owners had moved out and the new ones hadn't moved in yet. Despite the cold, she turned the car off and slid out of it, moving up the porch to look through the picture windows in front. The large living room was empty and she could see through the broad archway into the entryway and through another archway into the dining room. There wasn't any furniture to be found. She shivered, not certain why she was here and knowing she couldn't go inside, but unable to turn back to the car yet. Instead, she followed the porch around.

It still had the big back yard she remembered and she could hear the ocean from this side of the house, through a row of trees and down stone steps that had been in bad shape when she'd lived there. Likely, they'd been replaced by wooden ones by now. The wide back porch was also empty and she hurried across it, not wishing to look through the glass of the back doors. She had watched her mother unravel in that kitchen, finally seizing and knife and moving up the stairs to end life as Sara knew it.

There was a flashy playground set now, all shiny painted metal and soft, inviting sand. But it was new, and so it meant very little to her. Behind it was something she did recognize—her old tree house. Her brother had built it, but by the time Sara had been interested in it he'd been busy getting high and taking girls parking… so it had been hers. It looked like a couple boards had been replaced and the windows now had real glass instead of being gaping holes, but it was the same structure. She thought about climbing up, getting so far as to place a hand and foot on the boards nailed to the trunk, when something else caught her eye.

An old, worn, white wishing well. It had been a present for her seventh birthday—one of the few that were remembered and celebrated—and had been her pride and joy for a long time. It was actually a planter her dad had picked up at a hardware store, but he'd removed the bottom and dug a hole in the yard beneath it until he reached water, so she could have a well like in her fairy tale books. Such an act of kindness seemed strange, now, in the aftermath—she remembered mostly horror, but there had been good moments too.

…She had wished countless times in this well for the craziness in her house to end—for her dad to stop hitting her mom and for someone to make her mom take the medicine that made her less scary. With a bitter smile, Sara realized that she had gotten this wish, though it hadn't been what she'd expected.

_Be careful what you wish for. _

She snorted and dug into her jean pockets, finding the change she'd received from her bread purchase earlier in the day. Carefully, she picked out a shiny penny—she had never had quarters when she was little and it only seemed right to stick with tradition—and held it firmly in her bare palm. She turned her thoughts to all the things she could wish for and toyed with her options for a moment—Ecklie getting fired, or better yet, caught in the act of some disgusting fetish… dressed as a Furry or a Plushy, maybe. She snorted again and disregarded that. She didn't really want to cause harm to anyone, not even Ecklie. Or Sofia. Her lips twitched, but she pushed those thoughts away too.

…She could wish their team back together… or wish she'd never moved to Vegas…or that she'd never known Gil Grissom at all.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before tossing the little coin in, waiting for the reassuring splash at the bottom before she headed back to the car, suddenly needing to put this place far, far behind her. The upper half of her body was absolutely freezing. She blasted the heat and stepped on the gas, turning the radio up loud. None of these things got rid of the echo of her wish—her real wish—as it resounded in her head.

_I wish we were the same age. …I wish we'd gotten a chance to see if we could work, without all of the obstacles. I wish we'd met each other earlier in our paths._


	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Hope you guys like where this is going. Reviews are appreciated.

As always, thanks to Pati, my super awesome, amazing, fantastical beta. :)

And just to forewarn my readers, I'm in the midst of a family emergency presently, so if I update, it's mostly that writing is an outlet for me. It's entirely possible that it'll be a few weeks before I do update. Just so you guys know. :) Take care and let me know what you think.

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Chapter One:

She opened her eyes slowly, because she had a monster headache. She felt… hung over. Which didn't really make sense, because she was pretty sure she hadn't drank at all the night before. …What had she done the night before?

She stretched and blinked, wiping the sleep from her eyes… and then sat straight up in bed in a flash. She was no longer in the double bed in the hotel room in San Francisco. She was in a single bed with pink sheets, and the walls were covered in… ponies? She shook her head and reached up to put a hand up to it—and froze. Her hair was long. All the way down her back. She hadn't had her hair this long since she was in high school…

A knock slammed against the door of the room and she jumped, letting out a frightened yelp, her hand falling to her chest. …Or lack thereof. She looked down in surprise, noting that what limited bust she had had as an adult was halved, now. …Although quite a bit perkier than she remembered. The voice of the knocker broke through her surprise.

"Hey! New girl! If you want a turn in the shower you'd better get your ass in there now!"

She frowned in surprise, but obediently got out of bed, mostly to avoid the knocker-turned-yeller's anger. She still felt more than a little disoriented, and her head was pounding, so she moved without thinking. She found a tattered suitcase at the end of her bed —one she recognized far too well from when she _had _been a teenager—and retrieved clothing from it, choosing indiscriminately. She hurried out, past the hunky figure of a boy who looked like he was about seventeen.

"Did they let you sleep in back in San Francisco?" He tossed after her, a little angrily, and she frowned and closed the bathroom door behind her, trying to still her shaking nerves. _What was going on? Was she dreaming?_

Fearing that the knocks would come again, she showered in a hurry, her head spinning, and dressed quickly. …And found herself rather distressed when what had otherwise seemed like a regular pair of jeans came well up on her stomach. She felt like Urkel.

The knock finally did come again, so she hurried back to the room she'd left behind, ducking past the boy again, and finally found a mirror. Even in the strange clothes and with her wet hair hanging around her face, Sara recognized herself… a much younger self, but still her. For some reason that was reassuring, until she glimpsed in the mirror someone sitting up in bed behind her. She spun around to find a girl with bright red hair sitting not in the bed she had occupied—though in the reflection that had been her first perception—but another twin bed she hadn't noticed in her sleepy stupor.

"Hey. First night… Not so bad, right?" Sara gaped, uncertain, and the girl smiled. "The Wilsons aren't bad. Well, Amanda isn't. Frank, well… just avoid him as much as you can." When Sara continued to stare, the red-head slipped out of bed. "I suppose Ryan's in the shower now? That means I'm up next. …There's a blow dryer in the drawer there, if you want to use it. Then I'd hurry out to breakfast—never seems like there's enough to go around, you know?" And with that, the girl dug into a drawer, pulled out her own clothes, and left the room.

With shaking hands, Sara picked up the hair dryer, letting the hum block out the noise of a house full of people, if only to calm her enough to get her bearings. She didn't know how she'd gotten here, but she could recognize the place like the back of her hand—it was a foster home. Not one she'd ever been in. From what she could tell she wasn't even in San Francisco anymore. …That wasn't impossible—if they couldn't find a place for you nearby, they sent you somewhere else. She knew she at least had to still be in California. She recognized the suitcase, which added validity to her theory, and by the time she'd turned off the blow dryer she felt… well, not good, but better. At least she had some context.

Because she knew, unequivocally, that this was not a dream. There was something so real about it—details that never flushed themselves out in dreams, like the textures of fabrics and the thudding of her heartbeat, and the fact that she remembered each step she took from bedroom to bathroom and back—not just the fact that she had gone from one to the other. Her dreams never included anything so specific or minute.

Out in the kitchen, a smiling woman with flyaway hair greeted her by name and offered her a plate of food—the bacon that she'd laid across everything else made Sara's stomach turn, but she picked it off and ate her eggs, hash browns, and toast without complaint. She was hungry; the last thing she could remember eating was… French bread? No, that couldn't be right. If she had to guess, she was fifteen or sixteen and in foster care… in a home she couldn't remember. …Had her whole life—Harvard, Berkeley, Grissom—been a dream? She frowned deeply. Could she really dream in that kind of detail… to the point where she would know stats about fiber analysis and… and events like 9/11? Masses of obscure knowledge? Google and iPods and each successive president?

"Let's go, brats." Came the voice of the boy who had knocked—Ryan—and she, the red-head, and another boy all rose as one, bringing their plates to the sink and taking identical brown lunch sacks. Sara realized belatedly that she didn't have a backpack and turned to ask if she'd brought her old one, but Amanda was already handing it to her.

"Wouldn't want to forget this. Have a good first day, Sara."

"Thanks." She said, trying to smile despite her confusion, and the woman seemed to understand.

She learned on the car ride that the other boy's name was Alfred—poor kid—and the red-headed girl was Tina. Ryan was seventeen and a senior. Tina informed Sara that they were both the same age—fifteen—and wondered if they'd be in any of the same classes. Alfred was thirteen, and would be walking across the street to the Junior High. Sara, for her part, wondered whether she would still be graduating this year, or if in this crazy world she'd just been thrown into she was doomed to live in foster care until she was eighteen and then attend community college on student loans.

They directed Sara to the office for her schedule once they'd parked and she hurried in, not wanting to be late on her first day. Sure, it might have been more important to figure out what the fuck was going on… but some habits are hard to break. She received a bit of a shock when the secretary handed over her schedule. Her first emotion was relief—she was in Senior English, which meant that she at least was still on track. But it was followed by the shock when she read the date. August 21st, 1972. She had been born in 1971. …In September of 1971. She wasn't—shouldn't be—more than a year old. She was about to start hyperventilating when a voice she recognized dimly—it was younger, lighter, but the _same_—entered her awareness.

"Mrs. Caya, my mother wanted me to bring you this casserole. She heard your husband still wasn't doing too well." Sara spun around as the woman who had handed her the schedule smiled at the voice.

It was_ Grissom._

…Kind of. A young Grissom. He hadn't really filled out yet—he was tall and a little gangly, but he had broad shoulders and the same stocky frame she remembered. Give it a year or so…

"Oh Gil, your mother is just too kind. You'll tell her thank you for me, won't you?"

"Of course, ma'am. She said she's been missing you at Mass and hopes things aren't worse than we've heard."

"Oh no, no, nothing like that. There's just so much to keep up with, and with Herb out of work…" She seemed to realize who she was speaking to a moment later and put on a smile that neither Sara nor Grissom appeared to believe. "Well, anyway. Tell her thank you. It's very kind."

"I will." He said, pushing his glasses up his nose and turning to leave the office.

"Oh! Gil! Wait!" Mrs. Caya called, and he turned around expectantly. His curls were golden blonde from a summer in the sun and though they weren't as long as Sara might have suspected due to the year, they were longer than she'd ever seen them. He looked like a cherub, only… geeky. "This is Sara; it's her first day, and her first class is Advanced Chemistry with Mr. Friedman. You're in that class just now, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am." He answered, glancing quickly at Sara and then away. Mrs. Caya smiled.

"Perfect. You'll show her the way, won't you?"

He swallowed. "Yes, ma'am." This time he met her gaze—his eyes as blue as she remembered and filled with a familiar fire that had her stomach squirming uncomfortably—and gestured that she should follow him with a jerk of his head. She nodded, and followed him out of the office and down the hall in relative silence.

Despite her near-miss with a panic attack just moments before, Sara was surprisingly calm. Everything had come together with unexpected clarity the minute she'd recognized Grissom. _She had wished for this._ She had made this wish the night before and it had come true.

Despite being a scientist, Sara often found herself inclined to believe the unlikely… and at the very least, physics supported the idea of time travelling, though this was clearly something beyond that. …Well beyond it. Still, now that it made sense, it was pretty easy for her to accept with grace. She was in the L.A. area in a random foster home because she was here to… to see if things would be different when they were the same age and when Grissom didn't have his excuses like the lab and being her supervisor and anything else he liked to throw out there.

This was just them.

"I'm, uh… Sara."

"Gil." He responded, politely, but without real interest.

Sara frowned. This might be harder than she'd thought. She had been a science geek in high school. The first year she'd worked in Vegas, a case had prompted the question in the lab of who each member of the team had been in high school—the jock, the nerd… and though Sara had expected Grissom would have the same response as she had, he hadn't—he'd called himself a ghost. She would have to draw him out.

"I… just moved here from San Francisco."

"Mmm."

She sighed, watching the boy instead—and feeling a little creepy in the process. Her body might be that of a teenager, but her mind was… Well, she thought, not _exactly_ an adult's. She had noticed that much; that she felt a little gigglier around him than normal and that she seemed to be worrying an awful lot about her hair and what everyone else was wearing. …Maybe she wasn't quite as creepy as she'd thought. She frowned at that, but they were at the door and he had opened it for her, gesturing her inside ahead of him.

Mr. Friedman must have been expecting her because he immediately asked if she was Sara and pulled her up to the front to tell her how impressed he'd been with the records that had been sent over. Her Bio and Physics teachers had raved about her, apparently, and he wondered if she minded if he assigned her a lab partner rather than letting her choose, because the majority of the class probably wouldn't be able to keep up with her. She flushed in pleasure at that, nodding enthusiastically, and then got that sick feeling in her stomach again when he turned to call the student over up to the front with them. "Mr. Grissom, a word?"

She blushed, but tried to look as if she were completely unaffected—completely unaware that her face was presently the shade of a tomato. Grissom set down the book he'd been reading—it looked like an anatomy text book—and came up to the front. "Mr. Friedman?"

"I'm assigning Miss Sidle here as your lab partner—you two should be able to keep up one another and I won't have to wonder if either of you is carrying the other's grade."

Grissom glanced at Sara again and then back to his teacher. "Yes, sir."

"Great! Why don't you show her back to your lab table?"

With another jerk of his head, Grissom led her to the very back table where he'd been sitting. Without a word he sat back on his stool and buried his nose back in the book. Sara hesitantly set down her own book bag and slid onto the open stool beside him. She sat for a long moment and then, realizing he wasn't about to put his book away and start a conversation with her—and that she didn't have any brilliant talking points herself—she pulled out a notebook and started doodling.

God, doodling? She hadn't done that in forever, but it came back to her like second nature. She wasn't a master artist or anything, but she could whip out decent sketches without much effort. The bell rang, signaling the start of class, and Grissom marked his page and slid the book to the side so he could pay attention, but still didn't glance at her. She frowned and tried to tune him out briefly, listening to Mr. Friedman while she worked on a rendition of the microscope sitting on the desk between them.

Mr. Friedman spent the period telling them what they could expect and allowing the other students to choose lab partners for the first lab—which they would do tomorrow, he warned them. Sara worried that someone might come ask one of them and they'd have to explain Mr. Friedman's reasons for putting them together, but of course it didn't happen—she was the new girl and while she warranted a number of stares, she didn't warrant any niceties. They looked past Grissom as if he wasn't there.

Her other classes passed in much the same way—Senior English had her in a class with Ryan, who acted like he didn't know her, sitting instead with his group of dumb jocks. She didn't know anyone in her advanced Trigonometry class—there were only four other students, all seniors—and then she had the required Senior Government class. Ryan, thankfully, was not in this class, though a couple of his friends from English were. Again, no one spoke to her, though they eyed her with blatant curiosity. She hoped that Ryan didn't know why she was in foster care because she absolutely wouldn't put it past him to have blabbed to his friends. But as she didn't hear any all-too-familiar calls of 'Psycho-Sara', she figured he must not know.

It was lunch after that and, though she recognized Grissom right away, sitting alone, she didn't go sit with him. It felt like it would be pushing things—he hadn't seemed remotely interested in even her friendship that morning. She found her own table to sit alone at, but was quickly scooped up by red-headed Tina who told her to come sit with her friends. They weren't the science nerds she would have naturally gravitated to, but they weren't snotty popular girls either, so Sara considered herself lucky that she didn't have to eat alone. They asked about her classes and which teachers she'd liked and looked over her schedule, offering advice when they saw her gym teacher.

"Halstead is a real hard ass."

"Just keep your head down and do what he says and you'll be fine."

"Don't smart off to him—he's got a temper."

"He once made a class stay two hours after school running laps!"

She was sufficiently frightened as she left the lunch room to her Latin class. Grissom was in this one as well and even though there were only about ten students in the class, he didn't sit by her nor make any move to suggest he knew her. He sat in the back, in silence. Sara frowned and spent most of that period doodling too, not wanting to look up for fear that she would turn around to look at him.

He was making her as nervous as a fifteen year old girl, she thought wryly.

History was next, also with seniors, though she thankfully didn't recognize any of Ryan's friends and allowed herself to relax a little. Her last period was gym and as the time for the bell neared she found herself more and more worried. She wasn't even entirely sure where to go. The other rooms had been very clearly labeled and numbered, but the gym just said 'gym' on her schedule.

When the bell rang, she decided to stop at the office and ask Mrs. Caya from this morning. The woman smiled and directed her and she found it without too much trouble. Grissom was there, already sitting on the bleachers, several rows behind everyone else. Tina waved to her from across the room where she was sitting with a group surrounding another gym teacher—the different classes must alternate where they met each day. She waved back and sat down, awkwardly, hoping she was in the right place; Tina hadn't had Halstead as her teacher, and this was the only other group in the gym right now…

When Mr. Halstead did step out, looking like a grizzled army commander who hadn't ever quite recovered from his PTSD, Sara knew that she was in the right place. And that the girls at lunch had been right to warn her. He was… frightening.

He called roll in the most aggressive manner possible, yelling at Grissom to speak up when he had merely raised his hand to confirm that he was present and making the boy turn red in the face. He passed out padlocks and directed students to the locker rooms and, once he'd taken down everyone's number and combination, told them to entertain themselves quietly until the end of class.

Once he'd walked away, most of the kids turned to talk amongst themselves. Sara, sitting alone, chanced a glance at Grissom. He was once again buried in his anatomy book though Sara knew his face well enough—even if it was much younger—to see the tension in his jaw. She considered talking to him and then rejected the idea. She had learned that Grissom didn't know what to do with direct attacks. He went silent. …She would have to be subtle. Let him warm up to the thought of her.

With what might have been the hundredth sigh that day, Sara pulled out her notebook and pencil again. She almost wished she were back in Vegas now, even if it meant being home alone on suspension. Greg would probably bring her Chinese food and have a bad movie marathon with her, if he was free long enough to do so. Without her they were likely to be pretty swamped—just Greg, Sophia and Grissom. Adult Grissom.

…Weird.

The bell rang and Grissom—young Grissom—was one of the first out, though in the most unobtrusive way possible. Sara followed behind him, into the parking lot, watching him get on a bike and zoom away. She kept her eyes on his retreating figure and the young, firm muscles of his back under his t-shirt until he turned a corner.

Then, she set out to find Ryan's car. She wouldn't put it past him to leave her at school if she were late, even if she couldn't find her way home yet.


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Thanks to Pati, for the beta, and to everyone who wished me well. I promise I'll get back to you when I have more time. Hope you enjoy.

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Chapter Two:

She met Frank that night. He was… interesting.

He was clearly a businessman of some kind and came home in dark suits and shiny shoes, looking like he needed a drink. Sara stayed out of his way because, in her experience, men who looked the way he did when they came home were prone to outbursts. He didn't yell at her, though he did rip apart the dinner Amanda had made—the roast was dry, the potatoes undercooked, the corn cold, the bread stale. Sara bit her tongue and filled up on everything but the roast, hoping she could get by without eating it—she wasn't about to admit she was a vegetarian.

She didn't like the way he talked to Amanda, but she also realized how powerless she was in this situation. She didn't want to be sent away to another foster home and lose her chance with Grissom forever. Hell, she'd changed history; hers for sure, but probably his as well. Everything was different. This might be her only chance—she might never meet Grissom in the future. He might not go to the Forensic Academy Conference. Or she might not. …She couldn't lose him now.

She woke up Tuesday with a renewed conviction—she _knew_ Grissom. This couldn't be as hard as she was making it. There was no reason why, in their lab today, she couldn't open up the dialogue, start a friendship, and let it lead where it may.

She took special care with her hair that morning and then dug through the clothes she'd unpacked, finally finding a pair of pants that didn't cover her bellybutton—she'd been miserable the day before. Frank wasn't there at breakfast again, for which Sara was thankful, and she made sure to tell Amanda how good the food was, trying to make up for the man's words the night before. The car ride was filled with Ryan's loud music—Sara recognized the song as "Knock Three Times" by Dawn, though she'd always heard it on Oldies stations. Ryan was belting out the lyrics off-key, but Sara appreciated the moment in all its surrealism. It was followed by a song she didn't recognize by The Who, and Ryan had parked and turned the car off before they could reach the chorus and she could name it.

Once inside, she moved with purpose into the classroom and right back to the table with Grissom, ignoring the few other people already there. "Hey!"

He glanced up at her in surprise, and then nodded. "Hi."

She offered him her best smile as she slid into her seat and opened her lab book. "Excited for the first lab today? I love lab days."

He blinked several times, looking bewildered, and shrugged. "I… I guess so. The first lab is pretty basic—making sure you know where everything is and how to use it so you don't blow the school up. That kind of thing."

She practically cheered. She'd gotten multiple sentences. "No, I know but… it's better than sitting and listening to a lecture you already know, you know?"

He raised an eyebrow in surprise at that, but his lips were curled into a genuine smile. Her heart stuttered—had she ever seen an honest smile from Grissom? Not a smirk or a knowing grin or a half-smile or a wry upturn of his lips? …Maybe that first day in Vegas, when he'd turned around. Yeah, this smile was just like that one. "You're pretty confident about yourself…"

She blushed, realizing how she'd sounded, and stuttered out an explanation, which made Grissom laugh. "No. No, I just… Well, I know a lot about… But that doesn't mean… I wasn't saying… If you don't know, that's… fine, I…"

He wasn't necessarily laughing out loud, but his enthusiastic chuckle was more than she had been hoping for. He finally cut her off. "I was teasing you, Sara. Really."

"…Oh." Apparently teenage Grissom made her babble like an idiot too. Good to know.

He chuckled again and reached for his anatomy book, assuming their conversation was over. Sara's face was still bright red, but she leaned over anyway to glance at the book. It was open to the cross-section of a person and he flinched when he realized she was looking. "Oh, you don't… this is… kinda gross. I mean, it's… it's body parts and stuff." Now _he_ was blushing and Sara felt giddy. She was tempted to tell him she liked to dissect random dead animals, but chose against it. …That felt wrong. Using a personal detail against him was not the same as simply knowing him and acting accordingly. Backing off when he showed signs of panicking was not the same as invoking his own words from an interview he hadn't given yet.

"I don't think it's gross; I think it's fascinating! I don't really think I'm interested in medical school, but it would be _so_ interesting to be a coroner!"

…Okay. She was toeing the line on this one, but it was better than her first option, right? It wasn't like she'd brought a tarantula in her backpack. She was playing fair.

"…Really? I mean, you… you think so?"

She wrinkled up her nose. "I'm sure the first autopsy would be hard, you know, but… yeah, it'd be…" She trailed off, looking for the right word, and he finished for her.

"…Groovy."

Sara disguised her snort of laughter as a particularly violent sneeze and Mr. Friedman thankfully stepped in after that, calling the class to order and monopolizing Grissom's attention. …No matter what else happened to her, this had been worth it just to hear that one expression fall from his lips. _Groovy._ Greg would have a field day if he knew!

The lab was just as Grissom had said it would be—checklists of materials and the basics of using them, as well as a test as to the correct use of safety gear. For Sara and Grissom, it meant about fifteen minutes of work and thirty that was just down time. Grissom, to her surprise, picked up the conversation this time, apparently having established that she was not nearly the threat he'd perceived her to be the day before.

"I had Friedman last year for Bio. He likes to throw in projects and make-your-own-experiment labs, so we'll probably be doing something that isn't in the lab book."

She raised her eyebrows. "That could be interesting. What did you do last year?"

"The Lifecycle of the Monarch Butterfly. I wanted to do Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches, but my mom wouldn't let me keep them in the house and my partner was a girl so she was too…" He stopped and blushed. "I, ah… She just… wanted to do something… prettier."

Sara smirked. "You think girls can't like bugs?" The challenge in her voice seemed to lift Grissom back up. He raised an eyebrow in a challenge of his own.

"Most girls don't."

Sara rolled her eyes. "I'm not most girls."

He turned away, but not before Sara caught the tiny smile on his face. "No, you're not."

English was better than she expected, mostly because Ryan was still pretending she didn't exist. Their teacher, Ms. Denzel, passed out copies of Hamlet and spent the period discussing Shakespeare as an author—Stratford-upon-Avon and all that. Sara sighed. Though she appreciated when Grissom—adult Grissom—quoted Shakespeare, she was only moderately impressed with the man himself. Hamlet was a good play though, so it wouldn't be terrible.

This train of thought got her thinking, however, about how she was classifying the two. It was then that she decided that Grissom was reserved for the man she had known and… Gil… Gil was the boy she was… seducing?

Okay, that was a little creepy. She groaned internally and moved through the rest of her day. Trig was easy, mostly because she'd learned it all before. It took her a couple minutes to refresh herself, but she had a mind for math so it was pretty easy. Government was irritating, Ryan's jock friends interrupting the teacher constantly until she finally got fed up and sent them down to the principal's office. At lunch, she sat with Tina and her friends again, but she watched Gil out of the side of her eyes. He was reading, again, but she got the feeling he kept looking up at her. She wasn't sure and she couldn't catch him directly, but she got that same feeling she sometimes got at the lab when they were working together and she was looking down or had her back turned to him. It was… suspicious, to say the least.

She got to Latin first, maybe because she was kind of eager to see him again, but this backfired. He hesitated in the doorway, glancing at her, but went back to his spot in the back without another look. She sighed in disappointment and turned another page of her notebook, this time absent-mindedly working on a drawing of Greg with a show girl headdress on his head. She added details in History, feeling like school was so much more interesting the first time around. You would think the teachers would try to make material these kids had surely heard all their lives—U.S. History—more interesting. Or incorporate new discoveries in the field. …Something.

Maybe her expectations were too high. No one else in the room seemed to know this stuff.

She found herself excited to head to gym, despite the frightening figure of Halstead. Tina had lent her a pair of gym shorts when Sara realized she didn't have a pair of her own among her meager possessions and she had them and a school-issued gym shirt in her backpack. As she slipped into the girl's locker room she swore she saw a head of curls disappearing into the boy's locker room. Her heart started beating a little faster at the thought of his slender frame undressing and she mentally shook herself. Good god, this was becoming a problem. She needed to find some extracurriculars or something.

The shorts were… tiny. And not because Tina was smaller than her. No, they were supposed to be that short. There was less than an inch of fabric beneath her gym shirt. Feeling self-conscious, she walked out of the room with hands at either side, tugging self-consciously at the shorts. Not only did they show a lot of thigh, but she had even scrawnier legs now than she did as an adult. She walked in and went to sit on the bleachers for their class and caught Gil watching her this time, although his face held no expression. She bent her head to the ground and walked quickly, wishing to remove herself from display as quickly as possible. She was absolutely _not_ tempting him this way. God, she should have asked for some longer shorts but she hadn't wanted to seem ungrateful and…

"Alright!" Halstead came out, eyeing his class like new recruits in basic training. "We're playing basketball today. Let's get warmed up—five laps." When the class stared at him in bewilderment from the blunt nature of his request, he cleared his throat. "Now!" They were immediately up and running.

Sara was a pretty good runner, but she was self-conscious about her shorts and slipped to the back of the group so no one would be behind her. Gil ran solidly in the middle, not drawing attention to himself. A boy who had started out at the front and was now quickly gaining on her whistled provocatively and gave her a lascivious once-over as he passed. Her whole face flushed and she had the urge to catch up to the asshole and castrate him, but Sara didn't have the temper that her true fifteen year old self had once had… even if she was feeling more and more her age—her physical age—as time went on. She knew that she'd get in trouble and she couldn't risk her place in this foster home. She grit her teeth against the insult, bumbling with anger and finally unable to take it lying down. She might not be able to hurt him physically, but his pride…

She took off at lightning speed, passing Gil and the front-runners and then the guy and his group of friends who had once again taken the front of the pack. She was a lap behind, she knew, but she could make that up easy with this young body. They whistled and cat-called her the first time she passed them and when she made up her lap and passed them again, they repeated the calls, though half-heartedly. She only had one lap left and though she was exhausted, she pushed herself as hard as she could to pass them again. This time they tried to catch up to her and their panting trailed behind her as she finished her stretch and plopped down on the bleachers in exhaustion, her chest heaving.

But she was two laps ahead of everyone, including the asshole, and she felt she'd sufficiently put him in his place.

They were separated into boys and girls for basketball, so she didn't get to play with Grissom. She hadn't necessarily wanted to—she was still embarrassed that she'd let him see her legs the way they were—but she thought he would enjoy playing more if he had someone to interact with. As it was, it looked like they were kind of ignoring him—not being mean, but not passing him the ball nor even bothering to guard him.

She was angry, but reminded herself to pick her battles and turned to her own game. She was a much more aggressive player than most of the girls, maybe because she'd been born and raised in a more progressive culture, or maybe just because she didn't give a shit if she broke a nail. Regardless, it wasn't much fun and she was happy when she got to head to the locker room to change back into normal clothes and head home. She might have had a victory with Gil this morning, but the rest had basically been a waste.

She trudged out to Ryan's car, dreading the coming night. She didn't want to have to see Frank again.


	4. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy. Thanks once again to Pati, this story's beta and fairy godmother. :) (Yes, my story has a fairy godmother. Don't judge me.)

* * *

Chapter Three:

The rest of Sara's week continued in pretty much the same way. Frank, thankfully, only spoke to her during supper, and was generally gruff but not necessarily mean—to her, anyway. Amanda was sweet and Tina was clingy, apparently glad to have a girl her age in the house. Getting to go to school was the highlight of Sara's days.

She and Gil would talk in Chemistry, mostly about the class or their lab write up or what their project might be—even though they didn't have an assignment yet—and about Gil's anatomy book, which the pair of them pored over in the back while Friedman explained the periodic table in what had to be the most simplistic terms possible.

She would then go to English and listen to most of the kids complain that reading Shakespeare was too hard while Ryan and his friends made crude jokes once Shakespeare's crude jokes were explained by the teacher who, in her defense, was using the only tools she had to try to keep the attention of what had to be the least interested group of seniors Sara could imagine. She doodled throughout Trigonometry, filling up several pages by that Friday with the likenesses of everyone from the lab and then moving on to what she imagined they would look like if she met them at this age. Except Gil. Grissom. Whoever. She left him out.

But she had a page filled with a scrawny, geeky Greg bent over a chess table or with his bony feet in the ocean or next to a faceless Papa Olaf who was passing down wisdom of one kind or another. Greg admiring a fancy car or watching the jocks playing sports somewhat longingly… Greg plopped on a couch in a fashion that was endearingly familiar to Sara—how often had he sat exactly so in her own apartment?

She had another page of a well-muscled Nick in a cowboy boots and a hat, riding horses or doing random chores she imagined people did on ranches. Nick giving his oh-so-charming smile to a faceless cheerleader, with just a hint of uncertainty in his eyes—the part of him that hinted that maybe he had more in his head than the outcome of Saturday's game and getting under that pleated skirt.

Warrick was harder. He'd once described himself as a nerd, though Sara knew that he had some deep attachments to a youth center he claimed helped him turn his life around. She went back and forth between giving him large glasses and depicting him in backwards baseball caps with an overlarge stereo at his feet. She gave him buzz cuts and dreadlocks and an afro, but not of them seemed right. …Who had Warrick really been, as a teenager?

Another page was devoted to Catherine, busty and slender and full of glitz and glamour—Sara could not imagine a Vegas heiress, even one who didn't know she was one—looking any other way. Her hair always flowed behind her like she had a fan on her and her smile was tempting and dangerous, but there was insecurity in those eyes too. The doubt of a girl who had grown up without a real father and who would spend much of her life looking for a man to fill that void.

…It was when she finished this page that she realized how much she must really miss Vegas. She had tried not to think about it, accepting the outcome of her wish at face value and pursuing Grissom—Gil—almost single-mindedly. But she did. She missed her cozy apartment and her books—her police scanner and her forensic journals—Catherine and the guys and—strangely—Grissom himself.

She turned the page in agitation and glanced at the clock above the head of her Government teacher. Lunch was coming up. And while she was getting tired of cheese sandwiches—from picking the ham off the ham and cheese Amanda made every day—she had more important things on her mind. Like Gil sitting alone.

She bought her milk with the change from the bottom of her lunch bag and went to her regular table, watching as others slowly filled up the large cafeteria. Though the table she sat at with Tina was only populated by girls, most of the tables she looked around at had… well, not completely mixed populations, exactly, but… enough to where it wouldn't be strange for Gil to come sit with them. Not that she wasn't willing to go sit with just him, alone, but she felt that would draw more attention to him than he would like. She didn't want to change Gil, except perhaps to make him a little happier. He could be a ghost if he really wanted to be.

She was plotting how to broach the subject to the girls, halfway through lunch, when Tina confronted her on it. "Do you have a crush on that kid?"

She spun around. "What?"

They all erupted in giggles and Sara blushed, while Tina repeated herself. "That kid over there, with the curly hair. Name's… Gerald maybe? You keep looking at him."

"Oh. No, I… He, ah… He's my lab partner in Chemistry and I was just...wondering why he sits all alone. Maybe we should ask him to come sit with us…"

The giggles came again and Sara frowned. One of the other girls—Sara thought Emily, maybe?—was the first to notice and sobered. "Well, I mean… We don't mind. We don't want your booooyfriend to eat alone!"

Their laughter was uproarious and Sara rolled her eyes and left the table, tossing her mostly uneaten cheese sandwich into the garbage on the way out of the lunch room but keeping her milk. It might stave off her hunger while she waited for Latin to begin.

The classroom was open, but dark, and she wasn't sure if she was strictly allowed to be in here without a teacher. She hesitated but decided that it was stranger to leave the lights off and flicked them on before putting her backpack into her empty desk. She grit her teeth, kicking herself for her impatience—of course teenage girls would tease her about her "crush" and getting upset about it would only make it worse tomorrow. Or tonight, for that matter, with Tina. She crossed her arms and huffed, leaning against her desk.

When the classroom doorway opened behind her she spun quickly, ready to apologize to her teacher for being in the room this early without permission, but it was Gil, looking hesitant and shy. Sara's eyebrows rose and he looked a little like he wanted to turn and run in the other direction, but instead he stepped inside and let the door close behind him. There was a long, long moment in which they just watched each other. It was pretty clear that he'd followed her up here—or at least that he'd seen her leave the cafeteria and guessed where she was headed. He had a brown lunch sack clutched in one fist and hadn't yet moved to his seat in the back, and he was meeting her eyes rather than avoiding them.

Sara swallowed. She didn't know what to say to help him out here, though she recognized his familiar struggle for words. Finally, he exhaled quietly. "I… saw you throw out your lunch and, uh… My mom always packs me too much." He held up the bag awkwardly, looking a little sheepish, and Sara felt her insides melting. He was… so sweet.

"I, um… that's really nice, but I… I'm a vegetarian, so…"

"Egg salad sandwich." He clarified, and moved to sit not in his usual space in back, but in the desk beside hers.

"I… don't want to take your lunch. You'll be hungry."

At this, he grinned. "I told you, my mom packs too much—she doesn't trust school food, for some reason, and she thinks that teenage boys should consume ten times their weight each day." At her continued hesitation, he raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to sit down?"

With a little bewilderment, she moved her backpack and slid into the desk, watching him unpack. He had a half-eaten sandwich that looked like roast beef and another fully wrapped sandwich that was indeed egg salad. He then proceeded to pull out a small plastic bag filled with baby carrots, an apple, a banana, and another bag with two homemade chocolate chip cookies. At Sara's raised eyebrow he shrugged, a little embarrassed. "I told you it was too much for one person. Here." He then proceeded to scoot his desk closer and open the carrots between them and pass her the sandwich.

"…Thank you."

His ears turned red and he shrugged again. "No problem. …How, uh…" He trailed off and Sara, with a mouthful of egg salad, struggled to chew and swallow so she could ask.

She gulped. "How…?"

He chuckled and reached to open his own milk carton as she lifted hers to her lips. "How come you left? Were you… upset?"

Sara looked at him in surprise and noted that he was looking quite fixedly at his sandwich as if it had started speaking Portuguese to him. …Which perhaps explained his question. Gil was better with emotions than Grissom, but not by much. "Oh. I just… overreacted. They were teasing me about something stupid and I was sick of cheese sandwiches and hungry and I… kinda got upset over nothing."

He nodded knowingly, though his brow was creased in confusion. After a moment, he looked up at her again. "…Cheese sandwiches?"

Sara laughed, swallowing another bite of the sandwich—Mrs. Grissom made a mean egg salad. "Amanda makes ham and cheese every day, so I've been picking off the ham and just eating bread and cheese. It gets old." She realized, halfway through her explanation, that Gil didn't know about her past—his middle-aged counterpart did. And she'd given herself away, not saying 'Mom' instead of 'Amanda'.

He smiled despite that, tactful enough not to ask. "Well, I love Ham and Cheese, but I get pretty sick of Egg Salad and Peanut Butter and Jelly… I'll trade you, from now on."

Sara blinked in surprise again. Gil was getting bolder and bolder. Under her scrutiny he shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me like that. It's not like I can eat everything she sends me anyway. Do you want the apple or the banana?" And that ended that.

They were pretty sure eating in classrooms wasn't technically allowed, so they packed up the garbage into his paper bag and he tucked it away before their teacher arrived. When she did she smiled absently and commented that they had finished their lunches rather quickly, but otherwise seemed less than concerned by their presence there. They exchanged the secret smile of partners in crime and pulled out their books.

There was a pop quiz in History that Sara was fairly certain no one but she had passed, and despite how short the quiz truly was—ten true or false questions on the front and a short answer question on the back, worth twenty points total—their teacher gave them the entire period for it. Sara went back to her doodles, shading in clothes and Nick's horse and Warrick's hair, thinking about seeing Grissom the next period in gym, even if they were playing basketball separately again.

She changed, still self-conscious about her short shorts and also, about her undergarments. She had noticed, through the course of the week, the nice, new, cute bras and panties the other girls were wearing. And not that she wished to compare herself to them but…. She was in old, white cotton. She was lucky none of it was ripping, yet. She remembered that at Harvard, after she'd received her first Chuck E. Cheese paycheck, she'd gone out and bought all new underwear and several bras that actually supported her chest instead of making her look like an adolescent boy. Sure, she'd also bought a couple pairs of jeans and some new shirts—but the underwear had made all the difference.

Maybe she should get a job…

Gil was already in the gym when she arrived and this time she moved up to sit by him, in the back, without hesitation. He smiled his surprise and pushed his glasses up his nose. "Ready for the weekend?"

She wrinkled up her nose. She'd been trying not to think about two long days with Frank at home. "Nah—I miss school when I'm not here." She missed him when she wasn't here.

He smiled. "Me too. I'm working all weekend—my mom thinks it teaches me 'responsibility'." His tone of derision told Sara exactly what he thought of her opinion on this matter, though there was a softness in his voice that betrayed how close they were. Sara smiled.

"Where do you work?"

"Oh—My mom owns an art gallery. I basically do whatever she needs—inventory, setting up and taking down displays, working the register, telling people about the art, cleaning… It's a drag."

Sara shook her head. "I don't think so. I mean… as far as job opportunities go, it's better than a burger place or… you know."

He shrugged his acquiescence. "That's true, I guess. It could be worse. I s'pose you don't have a job? You told me you'd just moved here, right?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes—even if he hadn't been listening to her before, he was now. "Yeah—San Francisco. And no, though I've been thinking that I probably should. It'd be nice to have some spending money."

He grinned at that. "Oh I know. Soon as I get my license, my mom says I can take the car—as long as I can pay for gas. I've been saving up."

It occurred to Sara, perhaps belatedly, that he must have just turned sixteen about a week before she turned up. It seemed so… normal… for Grissom to be a sixteen year old boy excited about a car. Then again, he'd owned a Mercedes at one time, hadn't he?

Still, the appropriate level of enthusiasm needed to be expressed and she was slightly taken aback to realize that more than half of it was genuine. "Oh, cool! When do you take your test?"

He grinned with obvious pride, his chest puffing out, just a little. "Two weeks."

"You're gonna take me for a ride once you get it, right?" She teased, and the look of bewilderment that crossed his face was nothing short of adorable. He looked like he couldn't imagine for the life of him that Sara might want to be in a car with him… but that it was an appealing thought, now that it had been brought to his attention.

"Alright—no laps today, since my men apparently can't keep up with the girls!" Halstead shouted, making both Gil and Sara jump and Sara duck her head—she'd continued running ahead of the asshole, whose name she had learned was Rick, throughout the week, though she hadn't double lapped him like the first day. She hadn't wanted to call attention to herself—just prove a point. The guys in front grumbled while their gym teacher barked out his instructions that they once again split into boys and girls and play on opposite sides of the gym while he sat on the bleachers with his radio next to him.

Sara sighed—he might as well be texting or facebooking for all the teaching he was actually doing.

Sara hoped, maybe foolishly, that Gil would wait for her after school and perhaps walk her to Ryan's car or… at least out to his bike, but she had no such luck. The bike she now recognized as his was gone by the time she stepped out; she would be spending a long weekend without him.


	5. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Sorry for the long delay. I've been adding on to this story rather than proofreading and posting the chapters I do have. I fail. I'm sorry. I promise I'll get the next chapter up soon.

Thanks again to Pati, my awesome friend and beta, and to everyone who reviews. It means so much to me. I hope you enjoy this!

That being said... Does anyone else feel like they're not going to make it 'til Thursday and Grissom's cameo? I literally think my heart will give out before we get there. Sigh.

* * *

Chapter Four:

Frank took Ryan and Alfred fishing early Saturday morning—a rather fatherly gesture that surprised Sara—and after breakfast, Amanda suggested the three of them go out and do something fun… Shopping, maybe. So the girls went to dress—Tina had wanted to change clothes now that she knew she was going out—and Sara, who had not spoken to Tina since the day before, figured there was no time like the present for mending bridges. As soon as the door closed, Sara sighed.

"Listen, I… I overreacted, on Friday. I shouldn't have gotten so upset and left."

Tina turned speculative eyes on her. "…But you _do_ like him, don't you?"

Sara had a completely teenage impulse to deny her attraction, but bit it down, choosing to be more ambiguous. If she just said 'no' straight out but kept talking to Gil and, hopefully, meeting him for lunch… their suspicions would be high. "I… I dunno. I feel kind of sorry for him. I don't think he has a lot of friends. And, we're both really good at science, so we have a lot to talk about. And, you know, I'm the new girl… we're both kind of outcasts… together."

Tina grinned. "That's a yes. Does he have a car?"

Sara quirked her lips, reminded forcibly of that line in the musical Grease, wondering why on earth that was all teenage girls seemed to care about. She had the urge to 'shoop-ba-ba' in response, but didn't. "No." She decided to keep it simple, and shook her head as they headed back out to the kitchen to find Amanda ready to go.

Sara was expecting a mall for some reason, but instead Amanda drove them to a stretch of storefronts near the shoreline—not tourist stops, but little boutiques. And though Sara did not particularly like shopping, there were some things she needed. Gym shorts might not be available in one of these shops, but her clothes were a little snug and her pants a little short—she must have gone through a growth spurt recently. She'd had several foster parents get upset with her for how quickly her pants rose above her ankles and became ridiculous.

Sara amazed herself by actually having a fairly good time. Sure, it was clichéd in a feel good, teen movie kind of way… She'd never seen Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, but it was the image the title provoked in her mind. But still, it was… nice. She got pants that were long enough for her and that didn't come up quite so high and Tina even managed to talk her into a hippie skirt, though Sara didn't call it that out loud. It was pretty plain—just different fabrics, all in black, layered one upon the other to the floor—but it was a big step for teenage Sara. And, to be honest, it was kind of a big deal for adult Sara, too.

There were several other stores, but Sara lost interest about half way through the second and let Tina take up most of Amanda's attention. She was content to sit and wait, she just wished that she'd thought to bring a book. She was looking longingly at the ocean out the window and scanning the cute little stores, mostly anticipating how many clothing stores could possibly be left on this street, when a sign across the street caught her attention.

HELP WANTED.

It was a movie theatre. She glanced at Amanda, wondering how the Wilson's would feel about her working, and wanted to broach the subject but… but there was always the issue of transportation. Could she walk here from their home? She cursed herself, wishing she'd paid more attention on the drive over. She'd table the issue until they headed home and she could gauge the walk.

She sighed, about to turn away from the window and see whether they were close to being done here, when a golden head of curls caught her eyes. It was on the same side of the street as she was, so she had to press her cheek to the glass to see clearly—Gil and a man, unloading from a small truck several large, flat, cardboard packages. Paintings, Sara thought. Or large prints of even larger, famous paintings. He'd been in his usual jeans and a t-shirt, though there'd been a dark line down the center of his navy-clad back, betraying the heat of the day and the lifting he'd been doing. Her heart hammered in her chest and she leapt to her feet, thinking that surely Amanda would let her run down the street for a minute. She wasn't exactly sure what she might do when she got there, but—

"Okay, Sara, ready to go?" Amanda and Tina were standing before her, apparently having decided not to buy anything else here. But surely, once they got to the next store…

"Yeah, absolutely."

"Great. I think we're all ready to call it a day, yeah? We've pretty much exhausted the clothing options here…"

And with that she led both girls back up the street to where the car was parked. Sara, for her part, turned around while they were walking, hoping to at least catch a glimpse or gain his attention in return… but had no such luck. He was inside the store.

The drive home was further than was realistic to walk, which left Sara in a less than pleasant mood. As soon as she thanked Amanda for the clothes and put them away—she didn't want her to think she was ungrateful—she plopped into bed. She was overcome with the absolutely overwhelming impatience that is somehow symptomatic of being a teenager; not since she'd last been this age had she had so much trouble waiting for anything. No, not even emails from Grissom before she moved to Vegas, when she had been comparably young and foolish. She felt like the next moment she would see him could not possibly come soon enough and every minute in between was absolute agony.

Really, she was about _this_ close to sighing dramatically and telling everyone that they didn't understand and it wasn't fair and she hated her life. Angst, rinse, repeat.

The boys brought fish home for dinner and Sara made an exception to her covert vegetarianism for two reasons—One, she was legitimately worried about her protein intake without her soy and tofu, and two, Alfred specifically asked her, in a sweet, bashful kind of way, whether she would eat the fish he had caught just for her. It was painful, but he just looked so proud of himself…

She went to her room after supper, once ascertaining that there would be no attempts at a family game night or anything like that. She finished all her homework for Monday, read ahead to the end of Hamlet, and finished taking notes on the entire History chapter—the one they weren't due to finish for at least another week. If the math had been a challenge she might have worked ahead, just to keep herself occupied, but she didn't know the future assignments and doing them was more tedious than anything. It was just too easy for her.

At nine she changed into pajamas and crawled into bed, attempting to content herself with fantasy. What would Gil say on Monday or what would it be like to finally kiss him—would she be his first kiss? She wished desperately that she had at least kissed Grissom once, so she could compare, though if he would've taken that much of a chance she probably wouldn't be in this situation at all. She thought about his hands, broad and smooth and slightly calloused from the work he must do for his mom. She thought about how different he dressed compared to his peers—jeans and t-shirts, mostly, all in plain, solid colors. Nothing remotely… psychedelic.

Sunday, Sara was expected to get up, put on a dress—which she was surprised to find she _did_ have, tucked in her belongings—and go to church. The Wilson's were Lutheran, not Catholic, and Sara fould herself disappointed—how serendipitous if she'd also attended the same church as him—until she actually saw the dress. It was just awful. A mistake of orange and olive green that only the '70's could make.

…She was pretty glad he would never see her in this.

Despite being mentally an adult, she couldn't seem to maintain her focus. She sat still and proper, looking like she was listening, but her thoughts kept wandering. Maybe there would be a science fair they could enter together. Maybe Grissom would realize how much he missed her over the weekend and completely surprise her by asking her out on Monday. Maybe he'd take her to a…

What did kids do when they dated in the '70's?

Sock Hops were the fifties. …Disco? Or was that more the '80's? When she thought of anything from 1960-1970, all she saw was Woodstock. Haight-Ashbury. Stoners. Free Love. Peace protests. Lots and lots of pot. Somehow, she couldn't make any of that fit with Gil… or herself, for that matter, but especially not Gil. Maybe he'd invite her over to supper with his mother and they'd play chess…

They went to eat at a small diner afterwards in which Sara kept her head down as much as possible, hoping she wouldn't see anyone from school... or rather, that no one from school would see her. When they returned home, Sara was allowed to change clothes and then her time was her own. Rather than stay in and see how bad things might or might not get—or how angry she would get that no one said anything about the way Frank talked to Amanda—she went for a walk. The Wilsons lived in a decent neighborhood, surrounded by homes with white picket fences and basketball hoops above the garages. There were boys riding bikes and girls talking on porches and families in parks. Like a little slice of suburban paradise, actually.

This was the world Gil Grissom grew up in.

She made her way back to her foster home. Frank was drinking, Amanda was cooking. Ryan was gone—off with friends—Alfred was playing marbles in the backyard and Tina was in their room. Sara contemplated avoiding Tina and the questions she was certain the girl would ask her concerning Gil, but she also knew that she wanted an ally in the household and especially in her bedroom… So she dragged her feet into her bedroom.

Tina did try to ask her more questions but when Sara had very little to say on the matter, Tina filled the space with her own gossip about the girls from their lunch table and their various love lives and especially the dance coming up in a month—Homecoming. Sara was only expected to nod and offer the occasional one-word response, which helped. Dinner was exactly as Sara expected—and had gotten used to—but she was thankful that it was one of the few times during the day that she had to witness Frank and Amanda together.

She was desperate for Monday morning to come and determined to go to sleep right after supper. To her extreme surprise, it worked. But she dreamed of that tensing back, those golden curls, the sweat on his shirt and that must have been lingering on his adolescent brow. And she woke up at four in the morning, panting, knowing that her dream had gone further than just those details—and that it had been intense—but she was unable to recapture the details.

Except that she positively _ached_ with her desire for him.


	6. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: :) See? Didn't I tell you I'd post again soon to make up for the long delay? (...I think I said that.) Anyway, I am. Enjoy! Review?

Thanks again to Pati, for so much more than beta-ing.

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Chapter Five:

"Hey."

She jumped, glancing up. For the first time, she had arrived in class before him. In truth, she'd gotten up and showered as soon as she heard Frank get out of the shower. She'd finished eating before the other kids even got out there, and her haste had apparently been contagious, as they'd parked a good two rows closer to the school than usual. Alfred complained, as it was further for him to walk, but smiled when Sara ruffled his hair, so she figured he couldn't have been too upset.

She had been anxious to see him, but now that he was here, in front of her, after the dream she'd had… She blushed. Bright red.

"…Hi."

His eyebrows twitched in surprise. "You okay?"

"Yeah, no, I… I'm fine." She squeaked, opening her lab book. "Um… so, good weekend?"

He shrugged, sliding into his seat. "Worked most of it. My mom got a whole new shipment of stuff in, though, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. She was telling me I'd be spending the weekend doing inventory and then the truck shows up, a whole day early… It was like a godsend."

Sara chuckled. Yeah, for her too. Apparently Gil didn't like paperwork any more than Grissom. "What about you?" He asked, mid-chuckle, and she stopped, also mid-chuckle, feeling the heat in her face again. _I saw you loading things and it did such crazy things to me that I had a sex dream about you last night._

"Oh, um… Amanda took Tina and I shopping."

"Oh…" He looked like he was trying very hard to find something nice to say about her appallingly girly weekend activities. "…Fun."

Sara snorted. He was pretty bad. Maybe better than Grissom, if only because he was actually trying, but still. Playfully, she smacked his shoulder. "It wasn't like I wanted to go. I needed new jeans—I'm too tall."

"Oh." He blushed a little, but gave her a small smile. "Sorry."

She shook her head to dismiss it and pulled out her lab book. "So… do you know anywhere in town that's hiring? I saw that the movie theatre is, but it's not really close enough to walk and—"

"The movie theatre? On Panay?"

"Uh, I guess I didn't look at the street name. I saw it while I was waiting for Amanda and Tina to finish trying on everything in the store. …Some place called, 'Diana's', I think."

"Yeah! That's just down the street from my mom's gallery."

"Oh, cool. Do you live close enough to walk that, or do you just drive with your mom on the weekends?" She asked, trying to be nonchalant. Despite how little she'd seen of the town, she was fairly certain that if he didn't live on that end, he likely lived fairly close to the Wilson's and, therefore, her.

"My mom drives us." Sara nodded, but he was already scrambling to explain. "I mean, I… if I can fix up my dad's old car, my mom said I could have that. Once I get my license."

Sara smiled. He wanted her to know that he might have his own car soon. That had to be a good sign, right? He was showing off. She hoped. "Well, anyway, I don't have a ride so I can't even apply. I need something a little closer to home, but I don't know the town very well."

He opened his mouth, like he was going to say something, and then stopped, turning back to his book and eyeing it too closely. Sara found her hands shaking, a little, but clenched them and cleared her throat. "…What?"

He shook his head. "It was nothing. I was just… It's not important."

She swallowed. "…Tell me."

He sighed. "It was rude. You mentioned not knowing the town very well and I… I know that Tina and Ryan were both here last year, but you weren't, and neither of them have the same last names so…" Despite already having told _Grissom_ this, in the future, Sara felt her head spinning with the prospect of reliving her past with _Gil_. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. You don't have to tell me anything."

He focused intently on his book again, and though Sara wanted to tell him—knew that Gil knew what it was like to be ostracized and wouldn't judge her the way others had—she couldn't force the words from her lips. She turned to her own book, and the rest of the class passed in silence.

At least, between the two of them. Mr. Friedman didn't seem to sense their discomfort, and asked the pair of them to explain their answers on an assignment that no one else in the class had understood. Gil looked down at the desk and read his answer quietly, with a perfunctory air, and refused to look up when he was done. Sara, for her part, noticed the open-mouthed stares of the rest of the class and gave a less scientific explanation, hoping to divert the attention from poor Gil, who was turning redder by the minute. She wasn't sure any of them really understood, but it at least had the effect of making them all turn back around to look at Mr. Friedman.

Sara thought that maybe she'd catch him after class and tell him the bare minimum—the part he must already know—that she was in foster care. Just to open up the lines of conversation again. But as soon as the bell rang he was up and out of his seat, first out the door despite being in the far back of the class, furthest away from it. She wasn't entirely sure if he was running from her or if he was running from the fact that he'd had to speak in class, but it upset her nonetheless.

It felt as if the classes in between Chem. and Lunch were a blur, taking forever and yet Sara could not for the life of her remember anything other than sitting down and then getting up, again, once the bell had rang. The way Gil had talked, on Friday, implied that he had every intention of sharing his lunch with her from now on. But Sara knew that she would have doubted whether she would find him there even if they hadn't had such a rocky morning. She went to the lunch room to buy her milk and thought very seriously about waiting a few minutes to see if he would appear down here, unwilling to maintain their friendship.

But she disregarded the thought almost immediately. She had to trust him.

If he was up there and she waited too long, he might come down and see her here… misinterpret. And if he didn't plan to meet her up there, he might change his mind when he didn't see her at Tina's table. …Either way, she couldn't lose the ground she'd gained.

With more confidence in her walk than she really felt, she climbed the stairs up to her Latin classroom. The light was on and, when she stepped inside, Gil was sitting in his seat, looking a little nervous. But there was already a sandwich and an orange resting on her usual desktop. Her heart swelled at the gesture—like a welcome that was above and beyond just sharing his meals. His ears turned red and he glanced at her only once, before locking his eyes on his food, but it was enough.

"Hi."

"Hi." He said, clearing his throat. "I hope you like oranges—it's all we had in the house this morning, so I've got two of them."

"I like all fruits." She said, moving to slide into her seat, happily. "You… you don't have to give me your food, you know, if you're going to be hungry…"

He smiled. "I'll eat your ham and cheese sandwich if I am, okay?"

She smiled too. "…Okay."

A comfortable silence slipped over them as Sara unwrapped her Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich with pleasure, and then glanced at him a little uncertainly. This set-up… not only coming here, but laying out the lunch for her, despite the uncertainty he had likely been feeling as well after this morning… it had taken courage. A leap of faith that she was fairly certain Gil did not make easily.

"Amanda and Frank are my foster parents." It came out in a rush, and she took a large bite of her sandwich immediately after, concentrating on the peanut butter stuck to the roof of her mouth, not looking at him. Despite her averted gaze, his was focused intently on her. She could feel it. After a long, long moment in which her entire face burned and his eyes never strayed, he put his plastic bag between them again, on the edge of her desk. Peas. Fresh from the garden, still in the pods.

She still didn't look at him, but reached up to take one, waiting for the question. Waiting for Gil to push her admission the way Grissom had. To force the truth and then… do what? Did she really expect sixteen year old Gil to handle it half as well as his middle-aged counterpart? How foolish to think that the closed-off boy would know what to do when the closed-off man had only barely managed to open up enough to make a gesture? She could feel the tension within her winding tighter and tighter. She should just run. Make a break for it. He might not think she was crazy now, but when he heard about her mother and her father and the path she'd taken up to this point…

"My dad died. Seven years ago." She turned to look at him, and he shrugged. A long moment, once again, passed between them, but this time neither of them looked away. It was a poignant few seconds of complete understanding, and then Gil gave her a half smile. "Do you think we'll be done with basketball in gym, or will he make us play it for another week?"

Sara exhaled in relief. Maybe she'd sold teenage Gil short, she thought, a smile slipping over her features. "I don't know. I hope we'll be done. It's so boring to play with the girls."

He shrugged. "It's kind of boring anyway, if you never get the ball."

Sara frowned, but when he passed her one of his two cookies with a shy smile, she couldn't maintain it. …Somehow, she was going to make Gil's life a better place for him, and not just where she was concerned.

Though it was not her intention, this effort started that very day, in gym class. Her intention was to run beside Gil when they ran laps at the beginning, but when Rick and his friends lapped the pair of them and made snide comments as they passed, Sara's temper could only be held in check for a few strides. Then she huffed, exchanged a glance with Gil, and took off again. They ignored her, each time she passed them, but clearly Halstead noticed, because he sneered at her when she dropped onto the bleachers ahead of everyone else, again.

"You think you've got something to prove, Sidle?"

Panting and hot, her temper just beneath the surface, she wanted to tell him exactly what was on her mind. That she was being sexually harassed daily while he listened to his radio and threw out sexist statements, occasionally just shy of harassment themselves. Instead, she grit her teeth. "Just that I'm not a piece of meat is all."

He snorted and shook his head, clearly not appreciating her sentiment.

She was more aggressive than usual today, playing with everything she had and knocking over several girls who stood in the middle of her path to the basket, talking. The third time this happened, Halstead blew his whistle and pulled her out of the game. "Apparently you're too rough for the girls, Sidle. So, you want equality? Jump into the boy's game. Looks like Grissom is just extra anyway. You guard him."

Everyone had stopped their games to watch, and Halstead's bark was loud enough to be heard clearly by all. She didn't look at Gil, but she knew that this was mortifying him. She had the overwhelming urge to kick this oversized bully right in the balls, but clenched her fists and refrained, moving into the boy's game. She got a few snide comments, but otherwise the game continued around her, and she was left to guard Gil. Who never got the ball. …Who clearly wanted the ball, didn't he? He had said it was boring when you didn't.

In a mad dash, she darted around him and through a pair of guys, snatching the ball from the one wearing the awful blue mesh vest, like Gil was. And then she'd broken through the group, and Gil was between her and the basket. He looked a little afraid, but when she faked right and ran left—and he saw through it, forcing them into a stand-off again—she was pretty sure he smiled, a little. Of course, a moment later she was rammed from behind (and quite possibly groped, though she couldn't be entirely sure how intentional it was) and the ball was snatched, the group of boys leaving her and Gil behind. No fantastic half-court shots or game-winning steals followed by a slam dunk… just a push that catapulted her forward, causing Gil to catch her to prevent her from slamming to the floor, and the game continuing without them.

Still, though… She was pretty sure he'd smiled.


	7. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: To everyone who said they enjoyed last night's episode and asked what I thought: Ahem. OMGITWASSOFREAKINGAMAZING!WE_KNEW_THEYHADGREATSEX!... :) I could die happy now.

On to business: this chapter is brought to you by the letter "P" (beta-ed/inspired by Pati, as always).

I hope you enjoy it. Reviews, yes?

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Chapter Six:

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Sara smiled endearingly at him. He had walked with her to the locker room, convinced that being shoved by an asshole in gym was going to make her drop dead any second. And he had been waiting when she slipped out, to her great surprise and delight.

"I'm fine. Really."

"…They shouldn't have done that to a…" He trailed off, and Sara glanced at him, smirking.

"To a… girl?" She rolled her eyes. "They shouldn't have done it to anyone, Gil. They shouldn't do a lot of the things Halstead lets them get away with."

There was a slight pause, as though he were hesitating, and then he forged ahead. "…And you think outrunning them every day proves that?"

Sara's brow knotted. "I don't know. It… it proves that they're not better than me. Or anyone else. That even if no one else will put them in their place…"

"I don't know what your high school in San Francisco was like, but… doing stuff like that here is just asking for trouble."

Sara turned to look at him, frowning. This was not a Grissom-like statement. Avoiding trouble for self-preservation? That was… cowardly. Ecklie-like. She looked away, focusing on her shoes, trying to remain fair in this regard. She was feeling her reactionary teenage emotions pick up the charge from her adult morality and experience, and she was about to unleash it on an unsuspecting sixteen year old boy. Had she really assumed that Grissom had been a pillar of morality even as a child? That he had slipped from the womb contemplating social justice? He was insecure and uncertain—every bit the ghost he'd called himself—and he was still a kid, really. One of the reasons she loved him was because he had reached, in his life, a place of self-assuredness and moral upstanding that most people never achieved.

And not because she believed he had found that place with ease.

She drew in a deep breath and answered with practiced calm. "…If no one ever stands up to bullies—or to their own demons, physical or otherwise—then those people and those things get to run the world. You have to run into every battle fighting, even if the odds are against you. …It's the only way to make headway. And if every person does that in their own lives, the world will be a genuinely better place."

She dared to steal a glance at him—he was watching her with an indefinable look in those deep, deep blue eyes. She blushed under his gaze, willing him to speak, but he did not. They moved out of the school, paused at the bike rack, and he gave her a half-smile and a shrug. "…See you tomorrow?"

She forced a smile, not upset, but certainly uncertain. "Yeah. See you later." She made her way to Ryan's car, caught up in her thoughts.

When had Grissom stopped being so self-conscious? When did he become the fervent and self-assured defender of the powerless? Had it been when he became more powerful himself? Had he had a life-changing epiphany? Had he slowly come to the realization over time that there were things in life more important than what the people in high school thought of you?

She was quiet most of the night and, to her great surprise, heard Frank ask Amanda in an undertone from the next room whether she was sick. His voice was not quite concern, exactly, but it wasn't the tone of derision she expected either. She did her homework, went to bed, and must have been thinking about Gil in her dreams, because she woke up a little more content with her world.

This…situation… might not be exactly what she'd expected or hoped for—truth be told, she was a little impatient with the slow, building nature of starting over with a Grissom who _was_ unsure of himself and was also thoroughly inexperienced… But the idea of getting to be with him, and watch him grow, and experience his life with him… _grow with him_... Well, it was a different kind of wonderful than she'd expected.

And there was a sweet sort of sentimental part of her that imagined their future relationship in terms her adult self had never really contemplated. Had Grissom wanted marriage and children, once upon a time? Would Gil want those things? Did she? She had thought that, in her thirties, in love with a man pushing fifty, those ideas were silly; marriage an antiquated institution, children an irresponsible choice at their ages, not to mention an overwhelming responsibility that would limit them professionally and academically. But at fifteen and sixteen, at the beginning of what now felt like an endless life stretching before them, just for them…

Would she really have been granted this chance—this miracle—of a fairer set of circumstances for the pair of them if they weren't meant to be? …If their lives together wouldn't be so much simpler, so much _easier_, this way?

She kept that deep sense of contentment through Chemistry and Gil's second sweet inquiry of how she felt, and it left her feeling especially tender towards him. He was being a little protective, a little possessive, and more openly caring than she might have expected. It left her with a sweet, gooey feeling in her chest, like melting chocolate. But she couldn't show that. Instead, she rolled her eyes and told him she was tougher than he thought, to which he had given her the small, enigmatic smile she knew so well and asked her to pass him another beaker.

She floated through her classes, doodling happily and jumping in to answer questions the teachers asked as opportunity presented itself. In English they were reciting Hamlet's famous "To Be or Not to Be" speech—everyone in the class had to stand up at the front and recite it from memory. Sara volunteered to go first, even though she'd been meaning to give herself another day of practice if she could swing it, just because she felt so buoyant. She hardly noticed Ryan's irritated glare as she moved back to her seat, though she blushed at the wide grin her teacher was giving her.

Trigonometry was less eventful, but she found herself no less giddy—she doodled him. Not Grissom, but Gil. She drew him with his dorky smile, peering into a beaker that was smoking profusely, and on the bleachers in gym class, his hairy, skinny teenage legs sticking out of his shorts. In Government she drew him on his bike, his glasses sliding down his nose, and in their empty Latin classroom, offering her a cookie and a haven from the world.

She practically skipped from the lunch room with her milk, and once again Gil had beaten her up here. Except, today, he looked a little nervous. There was a halved and bagged pomegranate on her desk, but no sandwich, and a frown on his face. She slid into her seat. "…Something wrong?" She felt a tightening in her stomach, wondering what would bring a halt to her fantastic day, and…

"It's peanut butter pickle. My mom made it without asking me because she had to leave early and… I know, it's weird, but the other one is ham and turkey and—"

She giggled, and he stopped and glanced at her. She tried to cover it with her hand, and snorted instead. He laughed at that, and despite the color in her face, she just couldn't be upset. She reached over and retrieved her peanut butter and pickle sandwich and unwrapped it. "…First time for everything, right?" Despite herself, she had a vision of the boy's older counterpart frying her pickle in the lab and was grinning wildly when she took a bite, in part because both versions of him were making her smile, and in part because there were two versions of him at all.

It wasn't as bad as it could have been—and certainly wasn't as bad as another cheese sandwich would have been—though she was happy that the vegetable his mom had sent was celery with peanut butter. In an attempt to be neat, she'd put the peanut butter in a second Ziploc bag, but scooping it out with the still-slighty-wet celery was a challenge, and they got their fingers covered in it anyway. And despite the pickles on the sandwich and how ridiculously messy the celery was, Sara had never enjoyed a meal more in her life.

Watching him lick the peanut butter from his fingers didn't hurt, either.

By the time she reached gym, she felt absolutely immune to the ills of the world. Halstead yelled, the boys smirked and catcalled, and she ran like the wind in front of them. She played her ass off in the boy's game, elbowed Rick when he tried to disguise a grope as an attempt to steal the ball, and still managed to give Gil several moments of guarding her before she passed the ball on and gifted him with her wide, breathless smile. And when she slipped out of the locker room, feeling on top of the world, Gil was waiting there, just slightly down the hall for modesty's sake, his cheeks a little pink. She walked him out to his bike again, and though there was nothing really different about today than any other day, she thought maybe he'd been looking at her a little differently.

Which made all the difference in the world.

The week passed in the same kind of giddy blur, the only real change to her schedule being that they switched to playing football on Thursday, and Sara was back playing two-hand-touch with the girls. Gil, for his part, was getting pummeled. He was stocky and so they habitually stuck him in the line, both on offense and defense, and she watched him participate only as much as what was expected while the boy crashing into him gave it everything he had. This irked her, of course, but she didn't think she could do much to stop it—the kid, at least, didn't seem to be doing it vindictively. He was genuinely playing the game.

And then, Tuesday morning (Monday had been Labor Day, so she'd endured a long weekend without him), she came into Chemistry to find him grinning broadly, positively exuberant, and waiting for her impatiently. She wondered if she had looked like that in her delight over the past week, and hoped that maybe, just maybe, his reasons were the same as hers. She gave a bemused sort of half-smile and raised an eyebrow at him, her stomach flip flopping not only at seeing him so _happy_, but at feeling that part of that happiness came from sharing whatever it was with her, even if she _wasn't_ the cause. "…What?"

"I'm taking my driver's test tonight! Right after school!"

She grinned and, with only a little tease in her voice, replied with equal excitement, "Groovy!"

He laughed, not at her words, but just in simple happiness, his eyes alight, and Sara ached at the sight—more than she had at seeing his slender teenage form lifting packages and sweating in the California sun. His happiness combined with her own made the world seem bright and shiny and new and, when he got his license, he'd promised her a ride. So it was absolutely possible that he'd been thinking of her when he'd decided to get so elated about his test. She found herself almost shaking with excitement, despite knowing that she wouldn't find out whether he'd gotten it until the next day, and despite knowing that she shouldn't let herself be this excited about anything.

Sara knew from experience not to get her hopes up—things were going well, of course, but it wasn't likely to last. Nothing ever did. …But she did it anyway. Life—to her great, glad surprise—was turning out pretty well. Frank's criticism's of Amanda still bothered her, but otherwise he seemed a less frightening figure than she had initially assumed. Ryan ignored her, and Tina liked her—even if she teased her about her absence at the lunch table—and Alfred looked at her in a way reminiscent of Greg that warmed her heart. And things with Gil were… groovy.

Stupid as she felt even thinking it, it was the most appropriate word for the giddy, rushing, all-consuming feeling of things going so _right_ between them now. There was a school dance coming up in a couple weeks—homecoming—and though she knew it was foolish to expect him to ask her so soon, she couldn't help hoping. Imagining it as she fell asleep and playing out the different scenarios in which it might occur—at the lab table, over Rice Krispie Bars in their Latin class refuge, after gym, walking just slightly closer than they did in real life on their way to his bike. What she would say and how he would look and then the dance itself…

Sara really should have known better. Should have had her guard up, waiting for the other shoe to drop. And when it did, she was angrier that it had managed to catch her by surprise than she was at the thing itself.


	8. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: I decided not to keep you guys waiting too long. :) Besides, it's football themed and after my epic disappointment tonight, I figured I could use the reviews... (Hint, hint.)

Thanks to Pati, as always, for the magnificent beta.

Enjoy!

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Chapter Seven:

They were talking animatedly in the bleachers when Halstead came out, told them to skip laps and get out on the field. He looked like he was in an especially bad mood today, and glared at Sara especially as she walked out with Gil at her side. She shivered and stepped a little closer to him, and the tops of his ears turned a little red.

Rick was opposite Gil on the line today, which left Sara with a sick feeling in her stomach, but she tried to ignore it. For the most part, people just looked right through him. There was no reason in the world why Rick should target Gil the way he and his friends had been targeting her, but she didn't like it. Consequentially, she spent most of her time watching the boys' game instead of playing her own. She got "tackled", which for the girls was a two-handed tag, and tripped over her own feet into a muddy patch, smearing the dirt up one side of her body, and another time she slid and skinned her knee, which is a difficult thing to do on grass anyway. If she had left well enough alone, things might have been just fine, but she just couldn't stop watching, trying to make sure that Gil fared no worse than he had been on previous days.

Halstead noticed.

"You too busy watching the boys' game to play in your own, Sidle?" He yelled, when the people in both games were lined up, waiting for their respective balls to be hiked. The guys glanced over, snickering, as he continued. "I mean, either you're anxious to play with them, or you're worried about your scrawny little friend getting hurt…"

Gil's ears turned red again, but this time not because she was close to him. Her own face burned and a building, blinding hatred bubbled up in her. This was so unfair! _He_ was so unfair! She grit her teeth and turned her attention to the girls, but the damage had been done. She couldn't help but notice, even though she tried to keep her attention on her own game, that Rick had figured out that being rough on Gil was what she was worried about.

And if there was anything in the world he wanted to do, it was get under the skin of the skinny bitch who wouldn't stay in her place.

She didn't notice the first time, when he put his fist in Gil's stomach. She heard the groan and the somewhat appreciative, somewhat shocked "Ohh!"s of the other guys, and she saw Halstead's smile, but she wasn't sure what had happened. When the next tackle landed a fist to Gil's face, giving him a bloody nose and sending his glasses flying under the feet of the other players, Sara saw it. And so did Halstead. She watched him watch it with a vindictive grin on his face.

She wasn't aware of running out of her own game, of pushing through the rows of guys making ambivalent sounds of shock and appreciation, just as they had the time before. She was only aware of the sickening crunch that followed the fierce swing she aimed at Rick's supposedly handsome face, and of his scream as blood poured down his face much more profusely than it was moving down Gil's.

"Sidle!" Halstead screamed, and she shook her head fiercely.

"No! It is _not_ my fault that you let them get away with this shit! You provoke me, you laugh when they try to grope me or they try to hurt me, you indulge and condone their actions, and your own comments are just shy of sexual harassment, you overgrown bully! Whatever the fuck it is that's wrong with your life, get over it; you're an educator of children and you are a big, fat, failure in that regard!"

It was not the most mature moment in her life, but _damn_ did it feel good.

He was angry, and for a wild moment she was quite certain he would strike her. Then his thin, pale, ugly lips curved into a smile. He scribbled on his clipboard for a moment, and looked at Rick, who was using his gym shirt to absorb his nosebleed, revealing the most obnoxious set of abs she'd ever seen. Seriously, he was sixteen. It was just a little ridiculous at this age, wasn't it?

"Rick, go on in to the nurse, and bring Mr. Grissom and Miss Sidle's detention slips with you."

Sara opened her mouth to yell again, but Gil cut her off. And she was surprised. Surprised that he would speak up, but also at what he said.

"That's not fair! _She_ was the one who did it! I didn't _say_ or _do _anything!"

Sara felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach, and Halstead's smile grew. "…Which is why you only have a day of detention while she has two weeks, Mr. Grissom."

He clenched his jaw but turned away from Halstead, wiping his still-bleeding nose with the shoulder of his gym shirt. Sara swallowed tightly, willing the burning in her eyes away. She would not cry in front of Halstead, even if Gil had just… She swallowed again.

"Now, Mr. Grissom, you're not really in any condition to play." Sara blinked in surprise, wondering if his betrayal had earned him enough points with Halstead to go to the nurse, but he had no such luck. "Why don't you just work on cleaning the football locker room? There's been an outbreak of some kind of fungus. You can go ahead and leave whenever you're done, and we'll count it for your detention."

Well, maybe he was being nice, in his own twisted way. Gil nodded, turning to head into the school, but then stopped. "I… I can't do detention tonight, sir. _Any_ other night…" Oh, no! _His driver's test._ Sara wanted to cry, knowing that she'd somehow managed to ruin this for him.

The man grinned. "No, tonight it'll have to be. Unless you'd like me to call your mom and see if there's a good reason why you can't tonight…?"

Gil sighed and shook his head. "No, sir." He turned to go, and Sara tried desperately to fix it.

"Mr. Halstead! Detention isn't supposed to be given in more than half hour stretches for a first offense! It'll take much longer than that to clean the entire—" She trailed off at the look he gave her. He apparently didn't appreciate that she'd taken the time to read the student handbook. …She couldn't help it: when she ran out of homework, she read whatever she could find.

"Well, then I guess you can just go help him. With any luck, you'll both be done by half an hour after school gets out."

"But… there's half an hour left of class. Can't he leave right at the end of the day? I'll finish whatever isn't done."

"…Sidle, you're just damned lucky you're not getting expelled. Get in there, both of you!"

She watched him for a long, long moment before huffing out a sigh. She tried to walk beside Gil, but he lengthened his strides to avoid her, and though she could have caught him, she decided to give him a little space. She hadn't meant to get him in trouble or to ruin his test and she knew he was angry but…

It just wasn't _fair!_

The football locker room was disgusting and, unfortunately, connected to the regular gym locker room. Together they filled buckets with bleach and water, though Gil was silent and brooding. He stopped to move to his own locker and put his crumpled glasses frames within them, which was somewhat foolish—there was no chance they could be saved. He took his own rag and started scrubbing out lockers that were, thankfully, empty—they must have been planning to clean this room anyway—though they still bore the smells of sweaty socks and smelly, teenage boys.

They'd only managed to each get through one row of lockers, still in silence, before class ended and the boys were filing in. They might not have noticed the pair of them in there at all had Halstead not announced their punishment to the class, but he did, so Sara knew it was really only a matter of time…

"Hey Sidle, you look like you're used to being on your knees!" One of Rick's friends called, while she was scrubbing out the bottom of a locker. She grit her teeth and ignored him, until another voice came.

"Sidle, your boyfriend's a pussy! Why don't you let me show you what a _real_ man can do!" Came another voice, a friend of Rick's, complete with an inappropriate gesture. Raucous laughter followed and it was a struggle not to reply—because she knew that at this age, they were likely the most unskilled men she could ever have the displeasure of sleeping with, and their arrogance just set her off. Especially because they were bringing Gil into it. She squared her shoulders and moved over to the bucket of bleach with her back to the doorway. She knew Rick would have something equally clever to say in the next couple minutes, and she was bracing herself once again to not lose her temper.

If she punched him again, she just might get expelled.

She bent over to dip her rag into the bucket, and then shrieked and jumped, spilling it all over her bare legs, shoes, and the floor when she felt a hand grabbing her ass. She spun around, her face bright red and her fists already up in the air, ready to pummel whoever had touched her, and… stopped. Rick was standing there, looking like he thought he was the king of the fucking world in all his bare-chested glory. Sara snorted a laugh, her arms falling to her sides.

"Oh, man… You should either invest in some boxers or stop walking around like that, buddy, or someone's gonna know."

He blinked in surprise. "Know? Know what?" He looked down at himself, taking in the nearly sheer tighty whiteys that clung to his… less than impressive…package. She giggled again.

"I mean, I know it's cold in here and it's not like you're hard but… man, you just got some shitty genes, huh?" She snorted again, suddenly thinking of the perfect insult. "Oh! No! You got the _short end of the stick_!" She giggled manically, and didn't stop even as he angrily strutted away, yelling at the people who'd gathered around the doorway between the two locker rooms to get the fuck out of his way.

Sara, still laughing, turned to look at Gil, expecting at least a momentary break in his anger at her, but he wouldn't even look at her. His ears were a little red, but she honestly couldn't tell if that was anger or embarrassment, or a little bit of both. She sighed and went back to work.

They finished the lockers by four thirty, and Sara spoke to him again for the first time since they'd had to interact to discuss the cleaning. "…It's been a half hour. If you want to go ahead and go, I'll finish up…"

"What difference does it make now? I already missed my test, and I can guarantee you I'm already grounded. Let's just mop the damn floor and get out of here."

She nodded, looking down at her feet, which still squished with bleach water whenever she walked. She wasn't sure she'd ever heard Gil swear before, and it frightened her a little. Somehow, she'd done something unforgiveable.

She helped him mop the floor in silence and together they put away their cleaning supplies, emptied the bucket of water, and Sara headed to her own locker room to change into her street clothes. She was sure Gil didn't intend to wait for her, but she came out of her locker room at the same time as he was stepping out of his. So they walked together, first to Halstead's office, and then to the main office, finding no one present to document the time they'd left. There were janitors here and there, whom Gil seemed to know by name, but no one official.

They walked out together after determining that there was nothing else they could do but slide a note under Halstead's door. Sara knew Ryan was long gone, and had a fleeting hope that Gil might walk her home or even offer her a ride on his bike—she could sit on the handle bars or stand on the screws sticking out either side of his back wheel, holding onto his shoulders…

But he simply unlocked the bike—the last one left in the rack—and turned his back to her. Before she could stop herself, she asked, "See you tomorrow?"

He stopped, shook his head, and sighed. "Yeah, Sara. I'll see you tomorrow." And he pedaled away as fast as he could. Sara bit her bottom lip and started walking the way Ryan drove, hoping Frank wouldn't be too mad at her for what had happened.

It was dark by the time she got home, and they'd already eaten supper—Frank was drinking his scotch and watching TV in the living room and, at first, didn't acknowledge her. Amanda rushed her inside and said she should have called for a ride when they let her out, which let Sara know that the school had called and informed them of her detention. Amanda warmed up a plate of leftovers for Sara, though it was mostly meat, which meant that she was very hungry by the time she emptied it and went to the sink to wash it.

She had every intention of disappearing into her room and pretending to sleep before Tina could question her, but before she could make it out of the kitchen, Frank called to her. "Sara…? Come in here for a second."

She cringed and turned around, dragging her feet, wondering exactly how bad this would be. A verbal berating, a slap across the face, an unreasonable order to apologize to Halstead tomorrow? She was certain she'd take a slap before she'd do any such thing. She stopped in front of him, but not too close. She wanted to at least have some forewarning if he was going to hit her.

He took a sip of scotch and glanced up at her. "The office woman says you punched somebody. You wanna tell me what happened?"

She swallowed and looked at her feet, which were still itchy from the bleach water. "Halstead—"

"_Mr._ Halstead." He corrected. Grudgingly, she nodded.

"Mr. Halstead's been harassing me ever since I started, making comments about me being a girl because I outrun his favorite jocks in gym. Those guys hate me and… today, he noticed I was worried about a friend of mine who was getting hit pretty hard on the football field, so he shouted it out to embarrass me. And my friend. Those guys thought it was funny, and one of them started punching my friend instead of tackling him and Hal—Mr. Halstead—just laughed. …So I punched the one who hit my friend."

"…They also said you verbally assaulted Mr. Halstead."

She couldn't help it, her voice rose a little as she spoke up in her own defense. "The only thing I said was the truth—he wasn't being fair or trying to teach us, he was enjoying our misery and pitting the strong against the weak for his own amusement. He was letting a kid get punched repeatedly while he just watched! Not to mention, he's made comments to me that are borderline sexual harassment!"

Frank raised an eyebrow then, like he had no idea what the term 'sexual harassment' was supposed to imply, but nodded, taking another sip of his scotch. "You genuinely believe he's treating you and this other kid unfairly? He's said inappropriate things to you?"

Sara tried to think of something he'd said, but… "He hasn't said them, but he's heard those guys say them—really awful, dirty things to me—and not done anything. He doesn't yell at them, but he's mean to me. He's being _unfair_!" It must have been the teenager in her that felt the need to assert that point, once again.

Frank looked at her for a long moment, and then nodded, turning back to the television. "I'll call the school tomorrow and make a formal complaint. You shouldn't have to hear that stuff when you're at school."

Sara blinked several times, uncertainly, and then nodded. "Oh… okay. Um… Thank you." And she meant it.

"You're still going to have to do your detention, Sara. I don't know what your other foster homes were like, but in this house you will respect your elders, and refrain from fist fights. Do you understand me?"

She felt her face turn into a scowl, but it was better than having to apologize. …It was actually a lot better than she ever could have imagined. "I understand."

"Good girl. Why don't you run off and do your homework?" He said, dismissively, and she nodded and left, before he changed his mind or decided to throw on another punishment.

Only once she reached her room and burrowed under the covers did she allow herself to think about how angry Gil had been and to try to contemplate how to fix things between them, now that she'd screwed them up so badly. She tried to stop the tears, of course, because Tina would be in here soon… but it was a task that was beyond her, and she succumbed to it almost gladly.


	9. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: I promise I'm also working on Attrition and All That Glitters. I'm just several chapters ahead of what I've posted in this one, so it makes it easier to update more often.

Thanks again to Pati, who is amazing, for the beta.

Enjoy!

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Chapter Eight:

Gil waited until he was safely closed up in his bedroom before he turned to the door and shouted, "And fuck you too!" at his mother, who was still out in the kitchen.

…Of course, he immediately felt guilty, not only at his words but at the fact that she absolutely had no idea he'd done any such thing. He rarely swore, and never at her. Not that he was going to go out and tell her: "Oh, hey, Mom, I just wanted to let you know that you have yet _another_ reason to be mad at me…" But he'd have to give her a hug tonight and apologize for his 'attitude' during their fight.

He didn't believe he'd had any attitude at all, mind you, but she had certainly thought so, and it gave him a way to apologize without telling her the reason, exactly.

He knew Father Thomas would tell him this was dishonest and not enough—that he would need to be honest with his mother and apologize for the actual crime. Then again, he didn't make it a habit of telling Father Thomas the things he didn't care to repent. He didn't, for example, tell his favorite priest and friend of his late father when he necropsied his neighbor's cat, despite Mrs. Davis asking anyone if they'd found her. He hadn't killed the cat, but he couldn't exactly give it back once he'd realized whose it was; people thought he was weird enough without knowing about what he did in the back shed.

He knew he wasn't sick or twisted—and his mother knew he wasn't, either, which was reassuring.

She'd walked in, once, to tell him they were going to have dinner early because she had a late shipment coming in at the Gallery that she needed to be there for, and stared in shock at the seagull with the Y-incision spread out on his dad's old worktable. She hadn't reprimanded him, once he came inside, like he'd expected. She hadn't even mentioned it—though when he came home from school maybe a week later, there were a couple books on his bed. One was the anatomy book that he liked to carry with him everywhere. It was a college textbook, and much more informative than the limited biology texts he'd been given in school. The other was a compilation of a set of paintings done by a California artist—they were gory scenes, and the internal organs of both people and animals played a prominent role. He knew enough about art to understand that the artist's focus was that which made up every living thing; no glowing ball of light or transparent, ghost-like visage of what was once living, just a complex series of systems and organs.

A miracle in itself, but no proof of God or an immortal soul.

He didn't know how his mother knew that that he been his intent—that in his confusion following his father's death, he'd struggled to come to terms with the entire concept and had eventually sought out the truth himself, in the most scientific way he could… But he did know what the books meant. She was accepting him, and his choice of a hobby, at face value. If that was what he needed, she understood why and didn't judge him for it.

In general, he didn't tell Father Thomas about the necropsies at all, though he did feel guilty about Cuddle Muffin, the giant Persian his neighbor had sobbed over. He also hadn't told Father Thomas about Sara… or the dreams. And he was glad of that, because he'd made the mistake of telling his mom—about Sara, that is, not the dreams—and she'd completely misunderstood his plight. Thus the cursing; it wasn't every day one woman got you punched and another blamed you for it.

He rode his bike home after finishing cleaning, angry and afraid and just stinging with the injustice of _everything_, and his mother had already been waiting.

The school didn't exactly know how to deal with deaf people, and if his mother had been any less resilient a woman, they might have been a little on the disrespectful side—but she was amazingly strong. She ran her own business, she was active in the church, his school, and the community. She was on the board of the local library and volunteered at the city's one soup kitchen. Gil supposed it didn't hurt that she'd also been married to a man who had been equally well-respected and active in the community, nor that she had grown up here and her parents had insisted on not sheltering her from other children as many might have in the time—they wanted her to be normal, so anyone who'd also grown up here knew her well, either as a peer and childhood friend, or as an elder to be respected like all the other adults in the community.

So they made an extreme effort to treat her as other parents were treated, despite the sometimes difficult nature of doing so. The school didn't have a TTY, nor were they exactly certain how to call the operator to use it to communicate with his mother, so they often made it a practice to call his Aunt Dorothy, who would either phone an operator herself or just come over to deliver the message. So there was no doubt in Gil's mind that his mother had been informed why he would be home late, and she looked angry.

When the look shifted to concern at his rapidly bruising nose and the dried blood beneath it that he hadn't noticed or cleaned when he changed clothes—mostly because he'd been trying to get out of the locker room and away before Sara finished changing—he felt like he would be getting off easy. He'd never been in a fist fight, and if he told his mother that it was unprovoked and that he wouldn't have gotten detention at all if Sara hadn't had to rush over, playing the hero, and then open her big mouth…

He was almost right.

While she wiped up his face and gave him an ice pack for his nose, she signed to him in agitation that the school had merely told Dorothy that he was in detention for smarting off to his gym teacher. They hadn't told her he'd been hurt at all, which made sense to Gil—Halstead hadn't sent him to the nurse, and he wouldn't want to make himself look bad by admitting he'd let a student get punched repeatedly. Finally, she sat down and made him explain—he had no choice but to speak it, as she held one hand tightly in hers as if afraid she'd been close to losing her only baby and not known it, and his other was occupied with the ice. He bent his arm up awkwardly, to leave his lips clear for her to read, and launched into his explanation.

She had seemed troubled when he explained that he was getting tackled pretty hard, but he could see her writing it off as boys being boys, playing a rough game—she knew he didn't really have any friends, but up until now he'd never been anyone's target. This necessitated an explanation of Sara. He wasn't about to tell her about how they joked around in lab or how they had made it a daily habit to have lunch alone in an empty classroom. He made it sound like she'd just disliked the way they were tackling him—a well-meaning bystander who had been harassed by the same guys herself. His mother's frown deepened at this, and he knew he had her—he worked in an explanation of the things the boys had said to Sara and how Halstead had pretended not to hear or had laughed, and felt entirely confident that he would not be grounded after all. With any luck, she'd reschedule his driving test for tomorrow and…

He told her about Halstead making fun of Sara for worrying about him, and how Rick had proceeded to punch him in full sight of Halstead, not once, but twice. (She had paused him here to have him pull up his shirt; for the first time, he realized he had bruising on his stomach. The fire it put in her eyes was quite literally frightening.) The second time, Sara had run out and punched Rick and yelled at Halstead, and he'd proceeded to give the pair of them detentions while sending Rick to the nurse. His mother was angry, filling up with indignation on her son's behalf, and he began speaking more quickly, feeling confident—and made the mistake of telling her that he'd argued with Halstead that it was Sara who had talked back to him. Like a flash, his mother changed. She dropped his hand and began signing so quickly that he could hardly keep up with her.

_You mean to tell me that this girl didn't yell at those boys while they said awful things to her—or at your teacher, when he allowed it—but when they turned it on you, she defended you at her own expense and _you_ are blaming _her_ for this? You have every right to be upset Gilbert, but not at the girl. She might not have… chosen the best method to… air her grievances, but she was defending you. It isn't her fault your teacher is targeting her. Now, I'll go into the school sometime tomorrow and straighten all of this out, but you will be apologizing to this young lady. Do you understand me, Gilbert?_

There was no way he was apologizing to Sara, and he tried to argue with his mom over this fact—and he'd ended up getting grounded anyway, which was extremely unfair. Now, not only did he have to apologize to Sara (though he might just lie and say he had…), but he was grounded to the house for two weeks, and she wouldn't even schedule his driver's test for the day _after_ he'd finished being grounded. No—they would schedule it when the time came, and if that meant he had to wait another week or so, well, that was what he got for treating 'that sweet girl' so poorly.

It was that kind of talk that prompted his outburst.

He flopped down on his bed in frustration, wincing a little from the pain in his stomach and staring at his ceiling. Everything in his life had been so much simpler before Sara Sidle came along with her unbelievably long legs and her gap-toothed smile and her angry unwillingness to ever back down. Not only was she disrupting his days, but his nights—which is what he didn't tell Father Thomas. He hadn't yet had a… well, he hadn't had to change the sheets, yet, but that was because he always seemed to wake up right before it happened.

Meaning that he was left hot and sweaty in the dark of his bedroom, hard as a rock. And when he was sleeping, he didn't feel guilty—who can control their dreams, right?—but when he was awake… It was a sin. So he'd lie there, watching his ceiling, breathing hard, and gripping his sheets. He couldn't take a cold shower because it was the middle of the night, and he couldn't take care of his problem because he had voices ringing in his head—his mother's, angry at how he'd disrespected a young girl by using her as masturbatory material, his father's, telling him as a very small child that a man isn't anything without his morals, and Father Thomas expounding on the sins of the flesh.

That was another thing—she had commented, today, when Rick had come in and grabbed her… well, her… gluteus maximus… He grit his teeth at the heat he felt in his cheeks and his ears. Any other girl he could just say 'butt' but with Sara…

Regardless, Rick had come in in just his underwear, which he liked to do for some reason—showing off his muscles, most likely—and Sara hadn't been impressed, which Gil knew had been Rick's intention. Of course it was. Was there a male in the school who had seen her in those gym shorts and _not_ wanted her? Sara was nothing like the girls he was used to—she wasn't cute or sweet, and she wasn't the type of girl who would cringe at the sight of an insect or a spider, much less blush when a mostly naked guy came up to her. No, Sara was filled with a wild, tameless energy and fire—she was the only girl he'd ever met who qualified as 'sexy', and she behaved sometimes like she was so much older than the rest of them. And again—her reaction to seeing Rick had not been nervousness, or embarrassment, but humor… She'd laughed at him, and commented on the size of his…

What exactly did that mean, about Sara? How many… of those… had she seen, that she had means for comparison? What kind of life had she led back in San Francisco? He knew what his mother would say about the type of girl who might not be a… who, uh, might have already had… She believed that you waited until marriage, male or female, but especially female. And yet, the idea that maybe Sara Sidle was not a…

Well, it had him clutching his sheets in frustration all over again, but it was a conflicted kind of frustration, so that he couldn't decide how he felt about it or that suggestion one way or the other.

She was just so damned stubborn. Hadn't he told her exactly what would happen if she kept provoking Rick and his friends? Honestly, he didn't know what she expected when she messed with the power system that was in play, but he did know that she didn't seem to care—and that she was dragging him along with her. She was drawing attention to him when he'd so carefully avoided his peers' awareness, knowing from firsthand experience how cruel kids could be when someone was different. They had no idea just how different from them he'd become, but he'd always been a little on the outside of things, and he'd been tormented for it, back when it was just his brain and his love of insects that set him apart.

He'd carefully constructed a world in which he was invisible, and in a matter of weeks Sara had destroyed that—the effort of years. His mom didn't understand that, and it would break her heart if he tried to explain—but there was no way he was apologizing for this. Maybe Sara hadn't been wrong to defend him, but she'd been wrong to drag him into the fight she was foolishly waging and was destined to lose.

Still angry, he slid out of bed and stomped off to the bathroom for his cold shower.


	10. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Sorry updates have been sporadic-I apparently felt the need to do a few one shots instead of updating my WIPs. :) Hopefully it'll get better.

Anyway, this chapter, as always, is only what it is because of my wonderful beta and friend, Pati.

Hope you guys enjoy. Reviews, yes?

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Chapter Nine:

She didn't want to go to school the next day; she was afraid of what Gil would say. Would he still be angry? Would he even speak to her? What would become of their tentative friendship? Their personal lunches in their Latin classroom every day? She'd worked with Grissom for six years, known him for eight, and the last time she'd had a meal with just the two of them, prior to waking up a teenager, had been in San Francisco, nearly eight years previous. She didn't want to give that time up.

She thought about playing sick, especially when Amanda commented over the breakfast table that she looked "pale and a little peaky" and pressed her hand to Sara's head. But putting it off today would only make it worse tomorrow, and it wasn't like she could drop out of school. She'd shaken her head and said that she just hadn't slept very well.

Which was absolutely true, actually.

She dragged her feet on the way to their Chem. Lab, and was unsurprised to find him there before her, as usual, looking pointedly at his anatomy book; a tactic he hadn't employed since the first week of school. She swallowed heavily and moved back to take her seat beside him. "…Hi."

He glanced up at her, and then back at his book. She swallowed again, cringing at the bruising over his nose and feeling tears prick the back of tired eyes. She turned her face away from him while she reined them in. Biting her lip, she sighed and murmured under her breath, "I never meant for… for you to get in trouble, Gil. I just hated to see the way they were treating you."

At that, he did set his book down. Well, dropped it to the desktop with a _smack!_ actually. Sara jumped, and he turned his gaze on her. She realized somewhat belatedly that he wasn't wearing his glasses—of course—and that he looked…different… without them. "This is high school, Sara. Of course I was being treated like shit. And for the record, it didn't start until they noticed you were worried about it… because they don't hate _me_, they hate _you_. Because of _your_ misguided belief that outrunning them every day proves anything, rather than just pissing them off. I warned you about this, you didn't listen, and because of that my glasses are broken, I'm covered in bruises, I'm grounded, my mom's mad at me, I don't have a driver's license, and I went from being invisible to having a bright red target on my forehead!"

Sara was… dumbfounded. Partly at how much he'd said—had she ever heard him utter so much without a baby or the FBI involved?—But also at just how much anger he had. How truly and utterly he believed she'd shattered his entire world. And maybe she had, at that. She knew he'd get over it, but for a teenager… well, she had kind of systematically altered most of his life in one fell swoop, apparently.

She looked down at the table. "I'm sorry, Gil."

He turned away from her and, for once, it was a very quiet lab.

She was late to English because she started crying the minute Gil had moved out of her sight, on his way to his next class, and she'd gone to hide in a bathroom stall until she could calm herself. She blamed it on raging hormones, and her teenage emotions making her think everything little thing was the end of the world—hadn't she and Grissom fought before?—and on the fact that she could finally admit that she was tired of this wish. Her attempts to "save" Gil and make him happier had only succeeded in harming him and making him unhappy. She'd wanted him to love her and instead he hated her.

And truth be told, she hated sharing a room and sharing a bathroom and eating what other people decided she would eat each day. She missed her calm, cozy apartment with its sunlight and bright colors, its heavy tomes and black and white photographs, its plush furniture and lingering aroma of Blue Hawaiian, thanks to Greg's last birthday gift. She missed Greg slumped on her couch with his dirty socks on her coffee table books and Nick's frequent invitations to eat or drink or go dancing, just to get her out of the house. She missed Warrick's quiet presence, laughing at Nick's failed attempts to get Sara to two-step and giving calm reassurance and understanding with just his eyes. She missed Catherine's hair flips and the way she always ordered a salad and then ate off of everyone else's plate and she missed processing crime scenes and going to autopsies and dusting for prints.

She even missed Sophia and her fake accent and her too-long hair and her constant, inappropriate flirting.

Mostly, though, she missed Grissom. Grissom who, unlike Gil, would have been proud of her for standing up to the bullies and being a strong, defiant female in a world that didn't know what to do with that. Grissom, who would have seen where her heart was coming from, and who would have defended her against Halstead _and_ Rick and his asshole friends long before this. She missed his beard and the wrinkles near his eyes and the gray in his curls. She missed his slightly overweight physique and his court suits and the way he flirted with Catherine to get her to do what he wanted.

At lunch, she was quite certain that Gil would not meet her in their Latin classroom, but she went there anyway. Some of it was just that she couldn't handle the questions of Tina and her friends, and some of it was that she wanted to be alone. Some of it was blind, foolish hope that he would have calmed down, forgiven her, and come up, and some of it was a selfish desire for him to see that she was not at Tina's table and feel guilty enough to come up, even if he hadn't forgiven her.

Whatever her reasons, she ate her cheese sandwich alone.

Gil didn't sit next to her either—wouldn't meet her eyes when he stepped into the room and she looked up at him—but instead went to his old seat, in the back. Sara frowned and looked down at her desk, and their teacher frowned too and looked between the pair, visibly wondering at the change.

Sara was dreading gym more than anything, however. His continued cold shoulder hurt, but she wasn't afraid of it the way she was afraid of another confrontation with Halstead. She hoped he would just ignore her, but she knew that it was a foolish, unrealistic hope. On her way to gym, however, the intercom called both her and Gil down to the principal's office. She frowned uncertainly and changed direction, heading to the office instead of the gym. She beat Gil there, which gave the principal time to introduce himself.

"Hello, Sara. We've never met. I'm Dr. Stevens, your principal. Why don't you take a seat?"

She slid into one of the two chairs before his desk, looking at him cautiously. He must have sensed her nervousness, because he started reassuring her. "Nothing to worry about; you're not in trouble here. We'll just wait until Mr. Grissom arrives and then we'll have a discussion, okay?"

She nodded, her stomach churning. The combined stress of being in this office—and what it would mean later, at home—and of knowing Gil would be arriving shortly were making her feel dizzy. Nothing good could come of this, whatever it was.

Gil appeared in the doorway. "You wanted to see me, Dr. St—" He paused, catching sight of Sara sitting there. His gaze flickered between her and his principal, who was nodding.

"Absolutely, Gil. Come in and have a seat. Grab the door on your way in."

With another wary glance between them, he hitched his backpack up higher on his back and pulled the door closed, taking the seat beside Sara but looking only at Dr. Stevens, who smiled again. "I hardly recognized you without the glasses, Gil. It's a sharp look."

Gil raised his eyebrows, and then shrugged. "Thank you." Clearly, he didn't know what this was about any more than Sara did.

"Now, this business in gym yesterday. It struck me as strange when I saw your detention slips on my desk this morning. Gil, you've always been a good kid and a good student, and I've known your mother since we were in Sunday School together. And Sara—I don't know you all that well yet, but your record shows that you've always been a good student and any disciplinary issues were minor." Sara frowned at this. She'd gotten in trouble for smarting off to _one_ teacher in San Francisco and had been sent to the principal's office. She'd hardly call that a "disciplinary issue". And she had a serious problem with him stating it in front of Gil as if she had no right to privacy. Stupid '70's.

"So when both your mother, Gil, and your guardian, Sara, spoke to me today about the issue… you can imagine I was quite concerned. I figured the best way to deal with this would be to talk to the pair of you—get your side of the story—and then we'll call in Rick and Mr. Halstead in a little while to address this whole situation, okay?"

Sara wondered herself whether Dr. Stevens was always this fair to students, or whether Gil's mom and Frank calling him had scared the hell out of him. Despite this, they both nodded, and Dr. Stevens invited Sara to speak. With a hesitant glance at Gil, she sat forward and began her story—first with the way Rick and his friends had spoken to her and the way Hal—Mr. Halstead—had reacted to it, and then to the way he'd snorted when she said she'd been trying to prove she wasn't a piece of meat, and to the way he'd made her play with the boys to embarrass her. She felt she'd properly built up to the issue, explaining how she'd been worried that Rick would be mean to her… she stumbled over the word friend, and drew a deep breath to keep going. She repeated what Halstead had said to her about worrying about her boyfriend, and how he'd allowed Rick to hit Gil twice without doing anything.

Dr. Stevens interrupted here. "Is that how you got that shiner, Gil?" He asked, referring to his black and blue nose. Gil nodded. "They broke my glasses too, sir."

"Your mother mentioned another bruise. I assume you got the one on your stomach first. May I see it?"

Gil looked at Sara in alarm, and she cleared her throat. "I can step out, for a second, Dr. Stevens."

He looked like he was about to dismiss this idea as unnecessary but thought better of it, taking a second glance at how uncomfortable Gil looked. He nodded, and Sara slipped out of the room, closing the door and smiling awkwardly at Mrs. Caya, the secretary with the sick husband who Gil's mother had made a casserole for the first day of school. After a brief moment, Dr. Stevens' voice sounded through the door, calling her back in. Gil was sitting, and his face had turned red. Dr. Stevens looked… more serious than he had when they'd started this meeting. Sara sat down, and he cleared his throat.

"So, you saw the second hit, to Mr. Grissom here's nose, and that's when you hit Mr. Davis?"

Sara nodded. "Ha—Mr. Halstead was laughing, and so was Rick, and no one was doing anything. So I punched Rick in the nose. Mr. Halstead sent him to the nurse, gave me detention—which is fine—but he didn't punish Rick at all. And he gave Gil detention, when he didn't hit him or yell at him at all!" Her voice had risen a little, but she had managed to stay mostly calm. Dr. Stevens watched her for a second, and then nodded.

"When did you yell at Mr. Halstead? After he gave you detention?"

She shook her head. "No. After he was going to yell at me for hitting Rick."

"Is there anything else you'd like to add, Sara?"

She thought for a moment, and then shook her head. "No, sir."

He turned to Gil. "What about you? Is that the story as you know it? Anything you'd like to add?"

He swallowed. "Just that… that the way we were punished wasn't fair. I should have gone to the nurse, Rick should have gotten detention too, and… and Sara wouldn't have done what she did if she'd believed Mr. Halstead would have stopped them from hitting me. She knew that I wouldn't hit them back myself, and I already had a bloody nose and…" He trailed off, but after a moment, looked up again. "Oh, no, there is something she left out."

Dr. Stevens nodded, and Gil chanced a glance at Sara before sitting up. "For a first offense, detention cannot exceed half an hour. He had us cleaning through the last half hour of gym, plus more than half an hour after school. He didn't stay to make sure we'd done our detention, and he had Sara in the football locker room while the guys were using the gym one. They were… harassing her. Yelling inappropriate things and…"

Dr. Stevens looked between them. "…And?"

Gil's face burned bright red, but seeing that Sara was not going to continue, forged on. "And Rick came in and… grabbed her… inappropriately. It was… not a good situation to put a girl in."

Sara sat watching him, open-mouthed, uncertain whether she should bristle at his implication that the reverse—Gil in the girl's locker room—would somehow be less inappropriate, or whether she should embrace him for turning into a knight in shining armor before her very eyes. Dr. Stevens was looking at her, the question of whether this was true in his eyes, and she blushed and looked down, nodding. The blush was more that she was discussing Rick grabbing her ass with this stranger than it was embarrassment over what had happened, but either way it seemed effective.

With a heavy sigh, he nodded. "Well, your story seems consistent between the two of you, and the story you gave your parents. I don't think you need to be here when I speak to Mr. Halstead and Mr. Davis. Sara, we'll discuss your detention after I've spoken to them—go ahead and go home right after school today. Oh, and ask Mrs. Caya to mark both of your tardies as excused." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "Actually, make that your absences. There's only a few minutes left of class anyway. Okay?"

Both teenagers looked vaguely surprised, but nodded, gathering up their backpacks and moving out of his office and to the front desk. Mrs. Caya marked down their absences and smiled sadly at the bruise on Gil's nose. The two of them left the office together, Mrs. Caya's voice calling Rick and Halstead down to the office after class filtering out the open doorway. Simultaneously, they sped up their pace to avoid both people, and Sara turned to Gil when they were far enough away to feel safe.

"…Thank you, for in there. Defending me, I mean. It was…" The correct word for exactly what it was—how surprising and how gratifying and how meaningful—escaped her. He nodded.

"You're welcome."

She wondered if this meant he forgave her. She didn't feel like she could ask him outright, so she searched for something to say that might clue her in. "…What do you think's gonna happen with Rick and Halstead?"

His sigh was impatient. Irritated. "I don't know, Sara."

When he caught sight of the hurt look in her eyes, he looked simultaneously guilty and resentful, and shook his head. "Look, I just… I need to get home, okay?" And he turned down a hallway she knew for a fact would take him further away from his bike, just to get away from her. With her own heavy sigh, she turned the parking lot and Ryan's car. Sure, today could have been worse, but it also could have been a lot better.


	11. Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Hopefully this will cheer some of you guys up. :)

Thanks as always is due to my ah-mazing beta, Pati, who is very kind when I make hilarious typos. :)

Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter Ten:

The car ride home was mostly a conversation about Sara punching Rick. Ryan, Tina, and Alfred hadn't been told, the night before, why Sara had gotten detention, but word of the conflict had made it through the school by second period and across the street to the middle school by lunch time. _Small towns_, Sara thought with a frown. She didn't particularly want to be infamous, but the truth was that she wasn't scared enough of it for it to mitigate her actions, least of all those driven by her temper.

The way Gil was acting, however, was certainly enough to mitigate. She would think twice before jumping to his rescue again, because apparently he would have been much happier if she'd just watched Rick pummel him.

Regardless, she was relieved to hear that Rick and Ryan were not super-close-jock-friends, as she'd anticipated. Rick was a sophomore, like Gil and Tina, and Ryan was a senior. They weren't strangers by any means, and had played on a few teams together, but the age difference kept them from being BFF's, or whatever. To her surprise, Ryan actually seemed kind of… proud of her. He kept saying things like, "I wish I could've seen his face!" and looking at her a little differently than she was used to. ...Respect. That was the difference.

Tina hated Rick and Halstead, so she was happy to hear about the fight and Sara telling the gym teacher off, though she expressed concern over what gym was going to be like for Sara tomorrow. Alfred didn't say much, but he must have been worried too. He remained by her side all night, with the exceptions of trips to the bathroom and her bedroom, acting like a silent sentinel to keep her safe.

She didn't have the heart to point out that nothing bad was going to happen while they were at home.

Frank questioned her about why she hadn't had detention, and when she'd relayed the meeting in the principal's office, he had nodded, sipped his scotch, and told her she could go. She raised an eyebrow at that, but took the out and went to her room, intent upon spending the rest of the night brooding and sulking. Tina had other ideas.

"So if you like this kid enough to deck someone for him, why isn't he eating with you anymore?"

Sara's head snapped up at Tina, who had somehow managed to open the door without her hearing it. She was leaning against the frame, smiling smugly. Despite Sara thinking that Tina couldn't possibly know anything—much less about their lunches—she felt her face burn hot. "W-what?"

Tina's smirk widened and she stepped into the room, swinging the door closed behind her. "It's not _rocket science_, Sara. You stopped eating with us at the same time as he stopped showing up and eating at that table alone. Then all of a sudden, you're in detention for punching Rick in gym, the kid—Gerald—"

"Gil."

"—who I _know_ you have gym with, is all black and blue, and eating alone in the lunch room again."

Sara tilted her head speculatively. Tina should be a CSI. "…He's… he's mad because the only reason Rick hit him was because he knew it would bother me. And after I hit Rick, Halstead punished both of us, even though he didn't do anything."

"…Sounds like he's being as ass."

"Sounds like he's being a kid," she responded without thinking. A second later, her eyes shot up to Tina, who had a raised eyebrow.

"Ooookay. Well, regardless, you've been mopey ever since it happened, so we need to get this guy to eat with you again."

Sara sighed. "Tina, please, I don't really—"

"Sara. Listen to me. I know he's a nerd and that you two have this brainy connection going on… but he's still a guy and you're still a girl. Which puts you solely in control of this situation. So just let me advise you, and if it doesn't get you instant results, I will owe you a million dollars."

"You don't have a million dollars."

"I will someday. Anyway, it doesn't matter, because it's going to work." And without any more discussion, Tina began pulling miniskirts out of her dresser. Sara groaned and fell back on the bed. It was going to be a long night.

For the first time ever, Tina walked to class with Sara. They were early enough that she wouldn't need to worry about being late to her own first class, and she wanted to see the look on Gil's face. Sara had allowed Tina to dress her that morning, in part because she was desperate, but also in part because… Well, this might be the teenager rearing its ugly head again, but Sara _liked_ the outfit. She wanted to feel sexy and flirty and young and, well, at fifteen—almost sixteen—she could still pull it off. A girl her physical age wearing it was at worst following the fashions of the day, and at best… well, attention-grabbing. Which is what she wanted. A girl her mental age would be at worst a trashy old whore, and at best… severely misguided. So she relished the chance to be a little hot and a little dangerous.

Not that a sweater paired with a black miniskirt was all that dangerous, but she had the legs to pull off this garment in a way that Tina did not. And she _felt_ dangerous walking into school like that.

When they got right up to the door of Sara's class, Tina said in her most obvious I'm-faking-it voice, "Oh! Sara. Can I borrow a pencil before you go into class?" Every word was over enunciated and spoken slowly. Sara sighed. She didn't want to do this, but she owed Tina. Even if the skirt thing failed, the fact that she'd stepped up and tried to help Sara out the night before…

It had been a really long time since Sara had had a girlfriend like that to make her feel better when she was upset.

"Yeah, but I'll have to find one. Come in with me while I look for one." Sara responded in a more natural voice, and moved into the classroom. A single glance at Gil told her nothing, and after that she couldn't meet his gaze. What had she been thinking? Now he probably thought she was just like the dumb girly girls who hated bugs and who only cared about clothes and—

She set her backpack down on the desk and pretended to dig through it for a pencil for a second, despite them being lined up in neat little rows in one of the little pockets they provided for just such things. Sara was super neat, but Gil couldn't know that, or it would give away that Tina had no legitimate reason to be in here, except to gauge his reaction to the skirt. Finally, she pretended to take one from the bottom and passed Tina one from the pocket, smiling a little desperately. Tina flashed her a grin, which she hoped was meant to reassure, and turned to leave.

"Come BACK, Arnold!"

Everyone in the room turned to look at the back of the classroom which connected to a Biology Lab through another doorway. The door was open, and something… furry and little… raced through it.

"A RAT!" Tina shrieked and leapt up onto Sara's chair in a panic. All around them the other girls started screaming and climbing onto their chairs as well while guys laughed and pointed at either the fuzzy animal or at the girls who hadn't realized that it didn't make sense to stand on chairs in tiny skirts. Gil was slowly rising out of his chair, but Sara didn't realize until she was already past him, trying to find the little guy. Poor thing was probably scared out of his mind.

She got lucky—he ran himself into a corner and Sara was able to snatch a couple of empty binders from the counter above and block off his escape routes as she slowly moved closer. She was walking carefully on her knees, trying to stay upright and not flash anyone, and finally was able to press one binder up close to the little creature and reach down with her free hand to pick him up.

It was a small little brown mouse, not a rat, and though he was scared, he seemed kind of relieved that the person holding him wasn't screaming or chasing him. Sara smiled at him. "See? That's okay. Is your name Arnold?" Arnold twitched his nose up at her a moment before his owner stepped up to her.

"Hey, thanks! I had to run back and make sure my other mouse didn't get out while I was chasing him. You saved my life. I'm doing a huge project with them." Sara smiled at the boy, who looked older than her—a junior or a senior—and passed him Arnold very gently.

"No problem. I just think all the screaming scared him." Sara flicked her gaze back to the girls, who were no longer shrieking, but hadn't stepped down from their chairs either, Tina included. She bit back her irritation and turned to the boy, another thought just occurring to her. "…What's your project? You're not going to dissect him later, are you?" She looked at him sharply, wishing she hadn't returned Arnold. She understood the importance of dissections, scientifically, but to take an animal you'd named and befriended…

"No! No, of course not. Arnold and Ernest are my pets! I'm doing a sleep study on them, actually. You see—"

The bell rang at that moment signaling they all had two minutes before class started, and he stopped. "I should get back to my room. I'm sorry I bored you with this."

"No. You didn't. I'm just glad I could help with Arnold. …I'm Sara."

He smiled, looking at her speculatively. "I'm Paul. I'll, uh… talk to you later." He grinned before he turned with Arnold to go back to his room, and Sara felt her cheeks turning just a little pink. It wasn't even that she liked Paul so much as it was that a little male attention felt good. She had been dealing with Gil's supposed indifference since she started, and his outright animosity for a couple of days. It was nice that to be smiled at in that appreciative kind of way.

She turned back to find all eyes on her, and she blushed brighter, realizing that though she'd been in her own world for the conversation, the class around her had not been. Tina was smiling strangely and she and the others had finally stepped down from their chairs. Sara looked at the floor and headed back to her seat, and that was when whispering broke out around them. Her face burned brighter and Tina grinned. "I have to get to class. We're talking about this later." It was an emphatic statement that left no room for conversation, and with a twirl of her red hair she had turned and headed out of the room.

Sara swallowed and sat down, only just now catching up to everything that had happened and trying to guess Gil's reaction to it. She cringed, imagining what Grissom's reaction would be, and was silently grateful that Gil, at least, did not have the ability to give her the next ten decomps. Or a cannibal cheerleader, solo. She had had this morning all planned out. She was going to come in, looking like she'd walked out of a magazine in her little skirt and her hair and make-up perfect. Instead, her face was burning, her hair probably fly-away from chasing Arnold, she had quite likely flashed her classmates, and she had nothing to say.

She had been planning to say _something_ when she walked in here today, hadn't she? Something about Rick and her good intentions, even if it had all gone to hell. Something about explaining to his mom so he could still take his driver's test.

It didn't matter. The words were gone. She spent the period looking down at her notebook, grateful that today was a lecture day and that she wouldn't have to have any awkward interactions with Gil while they did a lab. This had been an absolute disaster and if it took her until her dying day, she was going to make Tina gave her that million dollars. Both of them should have realized that Sara really couldn't pull this off.

It was an absolute miracle when the bell rang and Sara could escape. For the first time ever, she was out of the room before Gil could even stand up.

She debated through her morning classes whether she shouldn't just give up and spend lunch with Tina and her friends. It wasn't like Gil was going to come eat with her after this morning. If he was anything like his adult self, she couldn't expect him to be civil for at least another six months, unless she had a life or death experience of some kind. She rolled her eyes and huffed, watching the clock with dread. Eating lunch with Tina sounded just as bad as sitting up in that room alone, waiting on someone who would never come. Her friends weren't Sara's friends so they would have no qualms about teasing her about her newfound celebrity status. She didn't want to talk about punching Rick anymore. And Tina would no doubt bring up this morning and her interaction with Paul. Not only would that be adding to the likelihood of it turning into wide-spread gossip in the next day or so, but it would be mortifying to try to explain herself to them.

She debated seriously just finding a lunch table to herself and disregarded the idea. It would hurt Tina's feelings, and she had decided that she liked Tina, even if she was never, ever going to take her advice again. She could eat in a hallway or in another empty classroom, but that wasn't going to be remotely relaxing. In another room, she might encounter a teacher who was less indulgent than her Latin teacher. In the hallway, there would be people going by, staring at her.

So, as usual, she purchased her milk and headed up to the Latin classroom. As long as she wasn't expecting Gil to show, it wasn't so bad. It was quiet and comfortable and it gave her a little alone time that was severely lacking in her life right now. She had about ten minutes in the shower in the morning, and maybe half an hour in her bedroom in the evenings before Tina came in and either also went to bed or tried to talk to her. She was actually feeling quite content, even if she couldn't bring herself to eat another cheese sandwich, until ten minutes into lunch, when the door swung open.

Gil stood there, looking conflicted, and a little abashed. He didn't look at her at all, but at the floor, when he mumbled, "…Do you mind if I eat with you?"

Sara, bewildered, shook her head, and then realized he couldn't see the action. He was eyeing his shoes instead. She tried to speak, and it came out in a hoarse whisper. "Of course not."

He nodded and moved to take the seat next to her, still not speaking. Sara's heart was thudding in her chest and she felt dizzy with the rush of questions that had suddenly come upon her. What did this mean? What was he thinking? Had he forgiven her? Was this because of this morning? Had Tina's plan worked? Was he here because of the skirt? Or Paul? Or Arnold?

Without a word, he placed an egg salad sandwich and a small bag of strawberries on her desk. A peace offering. She smiled at him, and he smiled uncertainly back for just a moment, before reverting his eyes to his own meal. It looked like they were starting over, but it was better than nothing.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: :) Thanks for all the well-wishes I've gotten for the wedding, etc. They mean so much. I hope you guys like this chapter.

And, once again, thanks goes to Pati, who is awesome.

* * *

Chapter Eleven:

They had to go to gym that day. There was no interfering intercom to save them from the confrontation, and both were dreading it, though they didn't discuss it. Actually, they'd discussed very little of anything during their lunch. It had been quiet, neither knowing exactly how to break the ice, until Sara brought up Gil's anatomy book and they once again marveled at how everything fit together—how perfect the miracle of the inner workings of the body. This conversation only carried them through the last awkward ten minutes, but then their teacher arrived and their lunch garbage was packed away and other students began trickling in. So it wasn't like they could really talk anyway.

Sara was actually relieved to trade her short skirt for the short gym shorts. At least she could stop worrying so much about squeezing her legs together to prevent an embarrassing mishap. Still, she was absolutely nervous when she made her way from locker room to the gym to wait for Halstead. Gil was there already, as usual, looking just as nervous. She only hesitated for a moment before going up to sit by him—he'd come and had lunch with her, after all. And it certainly couldn't hurt for them to show a united front.

Rick was in front of them on the bleachers, several rows down, but he and his friends kept turning to look at them. Gil watched his knees and fidgeted; Sara glared right back at them.

When Halstead appeared, he looked angrier than normal. He scowled at the entire class. "We're just running today. Endurance training. Go!"

Once again, everyone blinked in surprise, but then they were up and running laps around the gym, asking each other between pants whether he truly intended to make them run through the entire period. Sure, they had ten minutes for changing into and out of clothes, but that still left forty minutes of non-stop running. Sara ignored Rick and his friends, who once again took the front of the group, and jogged steadily beside Gil. She knew that he would have no patience for either of them if they couldn't keep going the entire time, so she was saving her strength.

She had pride, yes, but collapsing after outrunning Rick a few times wasn't going to prove anything.

Rick apparently had no desire to collapse either, as he and his friends remained solidly in front, but made no attempt to lap anyone. Sara actually thought that was a pretty good sign. Maybe in a few weeks' time he'd just have forgotten about her and Gil.

Halstead ignored the entire class, unless someone stopped to walk or to grab a quick drink at the water fountains on one of the walls, in which case he would immediately berate them until they started going again. It was with absolute relief that they trudged out of the gym when he blew his whistle and told them to hit the showers. It was only the second real set of directions he'd given them.

No one showered after gym, especially when it was the last period of the day, but today there were several people who expressed their irritation that they didn't have a towel here so that they could. Everyone was dripping with sweat and panting, clutching stitches in their sides and forming lines in front of the water fountains. Sara felt disgusting, slipping into the little skirt when she was sticky with sweat, but she didn't have much of a choice. And to top it all off, when the bell for the end of the day rang, Sara heard her name over the intercom, calling her to the office.

She didn't see Gil when she stepped out of the locker room, and made her way there alone to find that her detention had been adjusted—she had two days left, and then she'd be finished. She glared at the offending piece of paper stating her sentence, thinking that if this had taken place in 2005, the school would be so afraid of a lawsuit because of Halstead that they'd be kissing her ass and begging for forgiveness. Instead, she just got her unjust punishment shortened.

At the very least, it didn't sound like it would be manual labor this time around. The paper directed her to a classroom fifteen minutes after school ended, and so she had time to run to her locker before reporting to the classroom; she didn't want to have to worry about collecting her homework later. There was a teacher there who had her sign in and take a seat, telling her that she was not allowed to work on homework—this was detention, not study hall—and who otherwise did not speak to her. A moment later, Rick also appeared, signed his name, and took a seat. Next to Sara.

The teacher insisted that he move to put at least a desk between them, which Sara was absolutely grateful for. She didn't want anything to do with him and, to be quite honest, she was on pins and needles waiting for the revenge she was certain was not long in coming. She stared at her desk, swung her feet, cleaned out under her nails, tried to rake her fingers through the hair that all the sweating and running had made completely unruly, and when she glanced at the clock, less than half an hour had passed. For her hour-long detention.

She sighed, wondering if her lack of patience was another symptom of her age. As an adult, an hour to sit still would have been an absolute relief. She could sit, daydream, have some actual time to concentrate on a case… But today, in this room, beside the boy who would not take his eyes from her… it was like hell on earth.

Only made worse by the crashing noise that came from down the hall, moments later. Their teacher frowned, warned the pair of them not to leave their seats, and left the room.

Sara didn't want to admit it, but she was scared. Rick grinned. "So, you and me all alone…"

"Bite me, Rick."

He laughed. "Oh, I'd love to, baby. Where would you like it?"

She cringed and looked away. She had walked into that one. She resolved not to speak and get herself into any more trouble, but Rick was persistent.

"What, no snide comments for me, Sidle? …Maybe you like that idea. Maybe you're tired of playing me hot and cold and wish I would just bend you over a desk right here."

"Maybe I'm skeptical that you could get it up, even if I could get through such a thing without vomiting."

He smirked. "You don't intimidate me, you know. At first I thought you meant everything you were saying, and I hated you… but I get it now. You're from San Francisco. Free love and all that. You want me to get mad and just take you."

She gave him a disgusted look. "No, really, Rick, I hate you. I promise you that I mean every word I say. And I certainly don't want you to 'take me,' or any other caveman-ic phrase you would like to put into my mouth. That's… vulgar."

He didn't get a chance to respond, because their teacher returned, looking at the pair of them suspiciously and offering no explanation for the disturbance. Sara frowned, wondering, but Rick looked unconcerned which… did concern her. Maybe she was just being paranoid, or maybe he'd orchestrated the crash… But to what point and purpose?

Instead of walking home like she had the last time, Sara went immediately to the office when detention got out. She'd been allowed to leave a minute before Rick had because he'd arrived a minute later than she had, and she practically ran down the hall, debating between her own irrational fears and the knowledge that they _were_ probably irrational. They were in a school, he was just a stupid kid, she was trained in weaponless defense.

…Then again, she was in the '70's, where people believed that women were "asking for it" when they wore things like she was wearing today, and she was not nearly as tall nor as strong as she had been as an adult.

She called for a ride, and Amanda said she was sending Ryan, and then Sara went to stand by the front doors. A moment later, Rick walked down, gave her a salacious wink, and walked out to his car without a word. Her heart raced in her chest and she wondered if his actions were proof that she'd been foolish to worry, or proof that she had something to fear from him. She resolved to wear jeans the next day, and borrow some rings from Tina, and invest in some pepper spray the next chance she had. Anything to hedge her chances.

She could have cried in relief when Ryan's car pulled up. They were home in time to eat supper with everyone, for which Sara was relieved. At least she could load up on vegetables. The last time she'd had detention and Amanda had saved her a plate, it had been almost entirely meat, and she'd been starving until breakfast the next morning.

Frank broke his pattern of mostly not speaking except to comment on the food (although she had noticed, since their conversation the night she got in trouble, that he was not nearly as critical as she'd thought he was. Sure, he was still unkind, commenting that this meat was dry or that bread was stale… but it was tossed in with things like, 'This is the best gravy you've ever made,' and, 'Just like my mother used to make!' which, by the blush on Amanda's cheeks at that point, Sara judged to be the height of compliments.).

"So, they decided how much detention to give you?"

Sara lifted her gaze from her plate uncomfortably, and swallowed before answering. "I… Yes. Just tonight and tomorrow. And Rick was there tonight too, so he must have gotten something."

"Good, good. He hasn't said anything else to you, has he?"

She blushed and bit her lip. "…Not in front of a teacher, no." Frank raised an eyebrow, and she drew in a deep breath to calm herself before continuing. "The woman at detention—I don't know her name—she stepped out for a second and he was… less than respectful. But it's not like Ha—Mr. Halstead—where he heard it and laughed or didn't care."

Frank glanced at Amanda. "Maybe we should have a talk with his folks. What's this kid's last name?"

"Oh, no, I don't want to cause any more trouble, he's in detention and—"

"Davis." Ryan answered for her. "He's got girls falling all over themselves to date him, so he probably thinks he's invincible."

Sara swallowed, wondering if this would make things worse for her and wondering, too, when she had become the type of person who would let someone get away with something just because she was afraid. She gritted her teeth and nodded. "He… basically told me he thought I was pretending not to like him so he'd get mad and…" She blushed and looked at her green beans. "…do something about it."

"Frank!" Amanda all-but-shrieked, alarmed, and he put up a hand to calm her.

"I heard her, Amanda, just as well as you did. …Sara?" He asked, his tone making it clear that she was expected to look up at him. Biting her bottom lip, she lifted her head back up. "He means this in the way I think he means it?" She nodded, meekly, and he nodded resolutely too.

"I'll talk to his father tomorrow. …Is he John Davis's kid?" He asked Ryan, who shook his head.

"No. John's nephew. I think his dad's name is George?"

"Oh, right. Owns the condos on the beach. Well, I'll look him up."

And that settled the matter. Sara took a shower right after supper, eager to wash the sweat off of her, and then curled up into bed, feeling abnormally tired but unable to sleep. She was too worried about how this was going to turn out. She hadn't necessarily set out to make herself enemies, but apparently she had.

Not fifteen minutes after she'd crawled into bed, Tina sauntered into the room. Instead of sitting on her own bed, she stepped up onto Sara's and crossed her legs, slinking down to sit cross-legged next to Sara's feet.

"He. was. _drooling_."

Sara, who had left her head on the pillow to this point, sat up half-way, bracing herself on her elbows. "Gil?"

Tina grinned. "Oh yeah. He looked like he was gonna pass out. You had your head in your backpack, and he was trying so hard not to stare. He wasn't down at his lunch table—did he go eat with you?"

Sara bit her lip, trying and failing to hide the massive grin slipping over a face that had gotten really hot all of a sudden. She put her palms to her cheeks, trying to hide the color she knew was betraying her elation like a freaking car alarm. Slowly, she nodded her head, and Tina squealed and clapped her hands.

"Oh good! …Do you think he's gonna ask you to the dance?"

Sara blinked, and felt the color from her face slowly begin to seep away. She shook her head. "He's… he's really shy. And he's only just forgiven me for all the gym stuff and I don't know if—"

"So you ask him." When Sara looked up at her in surprise, Tina displayed the first moment of hesitancy since Sara had met her. She offered a half-smile and a shrug. "I mean… You know, women's lib. and all that. …Why do we have a pill if we can't use it?" The last part was thrown out flippantly, and Sara could practically see the girl throwing up walls to hide her budding feminism, afraid of being judged in a culture that hadn't been all that receptive to women who fought back. So even if her stomach was churning and her head was replaying the ease with which Gil's older counterpart had turned her down, Sara deliberately met Tina's eyes and nodded.

"You're right. Why should we wait around for the guys to ask us? If I want to go to the dance with him, I'll ask him."

Instantly, the insecure red-head at her feet grinned, and those walls that had so quickly jumped into place crumbled away. "I can't wait!"

They spent the next hour planning what they would wear to the dance, which made Sara much more nervous, and it was only after Amanda came and knocked on their door and suggested, in her gentle tone, that they get some sleep, that Tina remembered Paul. The door closed behind their foster mother and Tina tossed Sara a grin before sliding off the bed and over to her dresser, pulling out pajamas and slowly beginning to undress. It wasn't until she was pulling her nightgown down around her thighs that her head turned to Sara in alarm and her eyes got wide.

"We never talked about that _guy_!" Sara blushed, and shushed Tina while reaching to turn off the lamp between their beds. Tina ignored this signal as she plopped into bed and fixed Sara with her unwavering gaze. "He was cute."

Sara shrugged. Was there something attractive about his dark hair and easy smile—the one she didn't have to work so hard for? Of course. But was there even a chance that it could compare with the undeniable temptation that was young, sweet, geeky Gil Grissom? No. Besides, she had learned her lesson with Hank. Trying to force something when your heart wasn't in it just made you a fool. A fool who wasted an inordinate amount of time on someone who didn't mean that much to start with.

"He's not my type." That was a lie. Smart, cute, with a love for animals and science? He was absolutely her type, and she knew it.

Tina, apparently, shared this sentiment, because she snorted out a laugh before rolling to face away from Sara. "Oh, that's right. We both know how you _hate_ those science geeks…"

Sara aimed a glare at her back, but it went unseen.

The next morning, Gil was actually fairly talkative. His mom had felt bad for him and rescheduled his driver's test for the next Friday, exactly a week away and, though Gil didn't know this, the day before her sixteenth birthday, figuring that that was long enough for him to be grounded. When Sara hesitantly smiled and asked what had made her change her mind, he got awkward and stumbled over his words while trying to tell her that she'd probably just felt bad he'd gotten hit. Sara didn't buy that for a second, of course, but she let it go. If he didn't want to tell her, he didn't have to.

She also didn't tell him that the Friday he would be taking his test was the day of the upcoming dance. She knew he had no idea, and while it saddened her, she knew that she'd been right in everything she'd said to Tina the night before. She'd be pushing her luck to expect him to invite her so soon after the fight with Halstead and, consequentially, each other. So she just smiled and wished him good luck and tentatively reminded him of the ride he owed her.

He laughed at her teasing prompt and accused her of using him for his car. She snorted and rolled her eyes, but didn't say what she might have said to someone with a little thicker skin in this situation: "You mean your _mom's_ car?" She didn't want to scare him away again.

And then at the very end of class, Friedman offered Sara a golden opportunity. "You should also start talking to your lab partner about your semester projects and getting ideas going. The final project is due in December, but if you remember last week's handout, you'll need to turn in your theories and weekly progress reports, so you'll need to know what you're working on by next week. …If you need any help, feel free to come talk to me and I can give you some ideas."

The bell rang, but Sara and Grissom didn't move. They were looking at each other. A semester project was going to require a lot of meeting outside of school, and soon. It was so very, very good… and yet frightening for both of them. "…Do you know what you want to do?" Gil asked her, as the rest of their class filed out of the room.

Sara shook her head, completely drawing a blank. What types of projects did sophomores do in their Chemistry classes? …Which scientific discoveries and facts that she knew like the back of her hand didn't even exist yet? "Let's… think about it. We'll exchange ideas over lunch?"

"Great." He said, though he looked a little pale. Slowly, the pair of them stood up, gathered their things, and headed off in separate directions to their next classes, unusually quiet.

That is, until Sara stepped into their Latin classroom to see a Gil who was practically shaking with excitement. As soon as she met his eyes, he was speaking. "I wanna make a smoke bomb!"

Sara grinned. Gil was just adorable.


	13. Chapter Twelve

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, etc.

A/N: So if there are any weird spacing issues in this chapter, blame ff. I couldn't upload it, and when I copied and pasted, the formatting was crazy, and I had to go through and fix it line by line. (See how much I love my readers?)

Anyway, this chapter would not be without my amazingly sciency beta, Pati, who did the smoke bomb research for me and who is probably at home right now, making her own. :) Thanks, dear, I owe you.

Let me know what you guys think!

* * *

Chapter Twelve:

"We'll need baking soda, sugar, and a fertilizer with potassium chlorate."

He blinked in surprise, his own roast beef sandwich suspended halfway to his mouth, looking surprised. "…You've done this before?"

"Oh," she blushed, having gotten ahead of herself. She swallowed the bite of egg salad in her mouth quickly, and offered him a smile. "I, ah, did a report in one of my classes in San Francisco on, uh, you know, these protesters and what they used. They had a lot of different colored smoke bombs."

"Oh." He nodded, looking surprised, and then went back to his sandwich. "Should be easy to do a bunch of trial runs, then. Maybe even add color, like they did. Do you know how to do that, too?"

Yes, she did. "No… No, I don't." She shook her head, smiling. Apparently, this came off looking weird, because he frowned and gave her a confused look, and she quickly took another bite of her sandwich and looked away. It was actually going to be a struggle to not give herself away, in this project.

By the time they were sitting in the bleachers, waiting for gym to start, Gil had several ideas running about how to make colored smoke, which ratios they should try, and even started talking about making canisters to control the way the smoke was released. His stream of speculations and hypotheses was cut short by Halstead's entrance.

Today was, if possible, worse than the day before. Instead of laps the entire period, he split the class into two groups, one running what Halstead called "crunchers"—an excruciating exercise in which they ran from one end of the gym to crouch to touch a line a quarter way across, back, and then to the middle line, and back, etc. until they ran the entire length, and then they did it in reverse. Anyone who was not running while doing them was personally berated. The other group was spread out along the walls, doing wall sits. If you were not squatted down far enough, he would push down on your shoulders until your face revealed how much it made your legs burn. They alternated activities, back and forth, for the whole period.

Gil and Sara, however, were less affected by this than most. Sara had had a flash of inspiration mid-wall sit, and when Halstead was out of ear-shot, she had scooted up the wall to take the pressure off and had leaned over to her partner in crime. "Psst!" He looked alarmed, but she had his attention. "So some helium walks into a bar…"

"What are you doing?" He hissed, looking bewildered and alarmed, his eyes darting over at their militant gym teacher.

"And the bartender says, 'Sorry, we don't serve noble gases here.'"

"Sara!" He whispered with as much emphasis as he could.

"And the helium… doesn't react!"

"I don't think we shou—" He paused, blinking, clearly replaying the words in his head, and then he snorted a laugh and glanced at Halstead again warily. After exchanging another long glance with Sara, his eyes just slightly out of focus in that way that told Sara he was thinking deeply, he looked for Halstead and whispered, "A neutron walks into a bar and orders a drink. 'How much?' he asks. The bartender says, 'For you, no charge!'"

Sara snorted out louder than he had, and immediately sunk back into her deep wall sit, hoping Halstead would not come torture them. After several long moments, she glanced up—he was leaning over Rick, who was also doing a wall sit, and it looked like there was some tough love going on, minus the love. She gave Gil a sideways glance and a grin.

"An atom walks into a bar, sits down, and breaks down in tears. The bartender comes over and asks him what's wrong. The atom says, 'I think I just lost an electron!' So the  
bartender asks, 'Are you sure?' and the atom says, 'Yes, I'm positive!'"

Gil had to turn his head and bury it in his shoulder to stifle his laughter, and Sara felt lightheaded with happiness as she watched his stocky figure shake with contained mirth. Halstead's voice rang out over the gym, telling the groups to switch places, and they all stopped with mixed relief and foreboding and moved to the next punishment. Sara and Gil ran the crunchers until it seemed like their legs, already burning from their time against the wall, would certainly give out from under them. Finally, Halstead blew his whistle and told the class to hit the showers, which they did, almost all of them walking gingerly.

Gil slid up to Sara easily on the way out, a grin on his face. "Man, entropy just isn't what it used to be."

Sara let out a loud, giddy laugh, provoking both Halstead, several people behind them, and Rick, a few people before them, to scowl in their direction. "Oh, god, you win, you  
win! I'm too tired to think of any more!"

His face was bright in a genuine smile and his cheeks were red from exertion, sweat darkening the curls at his temples, and he looked completely edible, if she was being honest with herself. She was so caught up in looking at him that she nearly missed his next words. "So what are you doing after school? We could start our project; my mom could give you a ride home later. …I mean, you know, if you wanted to."

She beamed, and then slumped as if the air had been let out of her. "…I have that stupid detention tonight."

"Oh. No, right, of course." He looked crestfallen, and more than just his cheeks were tinged red now. Without even thinking, Sara had a reassuring hand on his bicep, and nearly  
swooned. All that sweaty teenage muscle, long and lean, even in his stocky frame. You would never guess how much muscle he had there, under his plain t-shirts.

"I, ah…" She took a moment to focus on her words, rather than on his body, licking her lips in the process. "I would really love to, Gil, I just… I've never asked Frank and Amanda if I could go anywhere, and with detention right after school… I don't know if they'd let me."

He smiled, and for a flickering second they were walking rather closer together than before, and then they were in front of the locker rooms, Sara's hand falling away, and Gil was closing up again. "We'll have time to work on it next week. I, uh… I guess I'll see you Monday." He said, in reference to her detention, and then he was moving into his own locker room, leaving her a long, lonely night ahead of her.

But first, she had another detention, more than likely with Rick. Her only consolation would be that, having been at school all day, it was unlikely he would know that Frank was going to speak with his dad, and therefore could not seek revenge. Today, anyway.

She made a quick trip to her locker, and then rushed up to finish her sentence and be done with it. Rickwas already there, sitting in his spot from the day before, and he gave her a slimy smile when their eyes met. She looked away, signed herself in, and took her seat from yesterday as well. The hour ticked by in slow silence, uneventful, but she swore she kept feeling his eyes on her. When she'd look up, he'd be staring off in space or reading the dirty words carved into his desk, completely occupied. It set her on edge, and once again she wondered if she was being paranoid.

He got out of detention before her, and waited outside the classroom for her. She had not worn rings in lieu of brass knuckles nor invested in any mace, and her heart rate sped when she saw him. But there was still a teacher in the building, still in that classroom, and surely if she screamed…

"You and your boyfriend had a pretty good time in gym today."

She blinked in surprise. That had not been what she expected, and she wondered what game he was playing. Still, self-conscious as ever and worried that Gil might find out she hadn't denied the title, she stiffly responded, "He's not my boyfriend."

"No? You got pretty pissed when we picked on him…"

"I'd be pissed if you punched any of my friends. And you're not 'picking' on him. Five year olds pick on each other. Friends pick on each other. What you and your friends are doing is bullying, and it's not funny or okay or just another part of high school. It's hurtful and it's harmful and you don't get a pass on being a _dick_ just because we _are_ in high school. You _know_ what you're doing." She had finally reached the office, and picked up the phone there, dialing home. "You just better hope there's no such thing as karma, because if there is, you're—Hi Amanda, I'm done now. …Yep, I'll be waiting for him. Thanks."

She hung up the phone, and glanced back up at him. He was still standing there, waiting for her to get off the phone. But she wasn't so sure she felt afraid anymore. "…Karma?"

She snorted out a laugh at his confused question and shook her head. "It basically means you'll get what's coming to you. If you're an asshole, bad stuff is going to happen to  
you."

They walked in silence down another flight of stairs, through the front doors, where Sara paused to wait for Ryan. Rick put on his best arrogant, cocky-ass smile, and slid an arm around her shoulders. "So… You wanna go park somewhere?"

She tensed when he touched her, and her immediate reaction to his words was disgust and anger. It might not be as blatantly vulgar as she was used to from him, but it was still egotistical and demeaning, and she turned swiftly to face him, his arm sliding off, about to tell him exactly what she thought of him—

"Richard Davis, you get your sorry ass in this god-damned car, you little shit!"

They both turned to look at the angry man rushing out of the car pulled up to the curb in front of the school, looking like he could kill with his eyes alone. "Dad?" Rick asked, and physically shrank down at the appearance of the man. Sara-the-teenager was gone, Sara-the-criminalist indignant on his behalf. Was that any way to speak to your  
child? She felt a stab of sympathy for Rick, even as the man stormed up to them.

"I can't be getting god-damned calls at work about you being a dumb-shit at school. You are in so much fucking trouble when we get home. I don't even know why I put up with your sorry ass." He paused, looking directly at Sara, looming a little, seeking to intimidate. And it might have worked, but Sara-the-criminalist wasn't afraid of any child-abusing scum bag, and she certainly wasn't going to let one feel powerful. She looked back at him in indifference and raised an eyebrow in achallenge. "You Frank Wilson's kid?"

"Yeah, I am." She said, without hesitating, and immediately wondered why her response had been so immediate.

He eyed her for a long moment, and then inhaled hard through his nose, a disgusting mucusy sound indicating exactly what he was doing, before he spit the entire disgusting glob at her feet. She couldn't help it, she flinched and made a face. He gave her a dark smile. "Figures." He turned back to his son, who had watched the encounter curiously, if quietly. "What the hell are you looking at? Get your good-for-nothing ass in the fucking car before I _put_ you in it."

Rick glanced at Sara without meeting her eyes, and then walked ahead of his father to the car. They were still pulling away when Ryan pulled up, and she numbly walked the same path they had, feeling sick to her stomach.

She hardly slept that night.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: So, I'm sorry about the long delay in posting. Once again, wedding and other RL stuff keeping me busy. Hope you guys enjoy.

And, as always, this chapter is only decent thanks to my awesome beta, PatiH, who is also an amazing writer in her own right. Go check out her story, To Iracambi, because it's soooo good. :)

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Thirteen:

That Saturday, Tina talked Sara into going to a movie with her, and then talked Ryan into taking them on the way to his girlfriend's house. Sara didn't know how they were going to get the money to go, but Amanda just smiled brightly when asked and retrieved cash from her purse, like it was nothing. Even if, mentally, it had been almost twenty years since she'd been in foster care herself, the experience of living in someone else's home had brought it all back to her in vivid detail. And so Sara was expecting to be yelled at just for asking, best case scenario—if not by Amanda, then by Frank. But when the three of them made their way from the front door to Ryan's car, past Frank who was working on the lawn, and he asked where they were headed… He asked if they'd gotten money from Amanda, or if they needed a little cash for snacks. And then, told them to have a good time.

Sara wondered how much of her fear of Frank had come from his stoic personality—which was, admittedly, still present—and how much had been a result of her expectations.

They decided to see The Last House on the Left, a Wes Craven classic, and loaded up on snacks while Sara contemplated the "Now Hiring" signs that were still posted around the theatre. Finally, carrying a giant popcorn between them, a soda each, and at least three different kinds of chocolate, they moved into the theatre. As soon as they took their seats, Tina leaned over to her and said, "I'm not really good with scary movies. I might scream."

Sara smirked. Even if she hadn't seen this movie with Greg more times than she could count—he insisted it was far better than any modern horror flick—the outdated special effects and technology would have completely broken the tension. It was so obviously not real, compared to what she was used to, that she absolutely couldn't immerse herself in the film. Or, at least, that's what she thought.

With the theatre crowded and the tension palpable around her from the fear radiating off of so many people to whom this was the height of realism… it was pretty scary. And borderline traumatizing, considering the subject matter. She fed off their emotions, and found herself squeezing Tina's hand throughout. Suffice it to say that they spilled a lot of popcorn and walked out of the theatre vowing that they would not sleep for the rest of the weekend, at least.

As they stepped out into the sunlight, Sara looked up and down the street with a frown. "I don't see Ryan anywhere."

Tina shook her head. "I wouldn't expect him anytime soon. He said he wouldn't be here until three…" She looked at her watch. "Which is not for another half hour. And if he's with his girlfriend, he'll probably be at least a half an hour late." Sara nodded, and Tina added in a quite matter-of-fact tone, "They're doing it, you know."

Sara's eyes got wide and Tina grinned and nodded. "Josie Evans told me that Carol Stevens told her that she'd overheard Linda Johnson in the locker room, talking about it with Jackie." Jackie, of course, being Ryan's girlfriend. Sara wrinkled her nose, realizing how little she knew about birth control in the '70's. Sure, she knew the pill had been invented in the '60's, and that many women had died in the testing because the levels of estrogen used were roughly ten times the amounts used in modern birth control pills… but she didn't know how she might get access to such a thing, here.

Wow, wasn't that optimistic? She was lucky Gil was speaking to her right now, and she was already planning her options to prevent a pregnancy. For all she knew, he was still a Catholic. Maybe he didn't believe in sex before marriage. He was most certainly a virgin, wasn't he? He had to be, with his shy sweetness and his loner status. The idea that she might deflower Gilbert Grissom rushed through her and left her mouth dry.

Tina was looking at her, obviously waiting for some kind of response. She swallowed heavily. "I… What?"

The redhead rolled her eyes. "I asked if you wanted to do some window shopping until Ryan gets here. Either that or we could walk down to the beach, but we won't be able to see his car from there."

"Oh. Yeah, sure." Sara nodded, and her eyes immediately sought out the gallery she knew was just across the street. 113 Panay. Its address apparently functioned as a name as well.

Tina dragged her into a clothing store instead, and Sara wondered whether she would've had the courage to go into the gallery just to look anyway. It's not like she had the money for a painting or anything, and it did seem kind of strange for two teenagers to window shop an art gallery, didn't it? …Besides, if she didn't see him, she'd be disappointed, and if she did, she wouldn't know how to explain why she was there. She might as well recommend he get a restraining order, since she was well on her way to stalker status.

She walked beside Tina while she browsed through shirts and jeans and skirts—both knew they didn't have enough money to buy clothing, much less something for the both of them, so it was an idle pursuit. Finally, a sales woman came to hover, either worried they were shoplifting or just tired of their giggles when it was clear they weren't shopping with serious intentions. The girls exchanged a loaded look and smirked before moving out of the store. Tina was about to drag Sara down the street, away from 113 and the object of Sara's desire, when the young man himself stepped out of the gallery.

He looked _really good_ today. Sure, he was wearing his usual baggy t-shirt and jeans, the scuffed up tennies she'd gotten so used to seeing on his feet, and was still lacking glasses… but there was something else. There was less tension in his shoulders, and he walked with a little more movement, his arms swinging. He looked more relaxed—calmer, happier. His curls looked golden in the sunlight, his gorgeous jaw line and cheek bones especially striking out here in the real world, rather than under the school's fluorescents. If only she could see him smile, she would consider herself happy for the rest of the weekend.

Sara wouldn't have said anything—she'd already determined that this was a little creepy, being here on a weekend—but Tina saw him first and did not wait to ask Sara what she wanted to do about it. "Gerald!" She shouted, and Sara spun around, her face turning red as she realized who Tina was referring to.

"Gil!" She hissed, about to die of embarrassment as he turned around in confusion and then raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"I… mean, Gil! Hey! Fancy seeing you here…"

Which was the moment when it occurred to Sara that, in a small town like this, it was likely that Tina knew Gil's mom ran the gallery. Hadn't Gil said he knew Tina had been at school in town here last year? He'd known her by name, and as far as Sara knew, Gil and his mother had lived here since he was born. Surely they would be known. She turned an accusing gaze at Tina, who tried and failed to pass her grin off as innocent while she pulled Sara forward. "So, what are you doing here today?"

Gil looked around himself, a little confused, and scratched the back of his curls to emphasize this fact. "I, ah… I'm working. My mom's gallery…" He trailed off, but Tina was nodding mindlessly, her smile something to rival Vanna White. …Did they have Vanna White in 1972? She made a mental note to check later, while smiling awkwardly and looking between her feet and Gil's frown.

"Oh, cool! Sara and I," She punctuated this by jerking Sara a little further forward. "were just at a movie. The Last House on the Left."

Gil blinked in surprise and then smiled wryly. "That's a good one. Wes Craven is a master."

Sara finally met his eyes fully, trying to hide her surprise. Gil Grissom and Greg Sanders had something in common. Did Grissom still revere Craven as he had in his youth? …Did he still like horror movies, or did he get enough of that in his everyday? Tina elbowed her sharply in the ribs and Sara jumped, and then swallowed. "Oh. …Yeah, he's great. It, ah… It was super scary."

God, she sounded like an idiot. Why was this so much easier when they were in school?

Gil nodded, and then after a long, awkward pause, "Well, anyway, I'm supposed to be looking for a delivery truck that got lost somewhere on Panay… like there's anywhere to go… so I'd better—"

"You can see all of Panay from here. Stay and talk to us. So you've already seen Last House on the Left? Were you scared?" Both Sara and Gil looked at Tina in moderate surprise, and she did have the grace to look a little sheepish before shrugging and offering an excuse. "We're waiting for Ryan to come pick us up and we don't have anything to do. We were lucky to run into someone we knew."

Gil seemed to take her at face value, despite the fact that she was claiming she 'knew' him when she'd just called him Gerald. Gil nodded, glanced up and down the street, and then shrugged. "Yeah, I went and saw it the day it came out. I'm a fan. And of course I was scared—you can't see a Craven flick without being scared out of your mind."

Sara grinned at this, thinking that his zeal for something entirely un-scientific was adorable, and found herself hoping that Grissom hadn't lost that, even if he hid it better as an adult. She was about to open a comparison between this movie and some of Craven's others, but paused a moment too long to make sure she didn't bring up a movie that hadn't been made yet, and then Tina had jumped ahead of her again.

"So, the Homecoming Dance is this Friday. You getting excited? I'm still looking for a date. Sara's gotten asked like ten times already, but she hasn't said yes to anyone. I keep telling her she has to make up her mind so that some of the rest of us can get dates."

Sara cringed and hurried to backtrack, "No, no. I—I haven't been asked by ten people. I… Tina, that's—"

"She's so modest." Tina cut her off, while Gil just kept his gaze steadily on Sara. There had been no flicker of barely concealed emotion this time, but his eyes were intensely focused on Sara's face, and maybe a little darker than normal.

Sara opened her mouth, trying to un-fluster herself enough to say that she hadn't been asked by anyone, but she was cut off again, by Ryan honking his horn at them in irritation from out front of the movie theatre. All three of them jumped and whirled around to see the older boy waving them over impatiently. Gil stayed silent, and Tina, for once, did too, so it was left to Sara.

"We, uh… we should go. I'll… see you Monday?"

"Yeah. Monday."

She nodded, and she and Tina turned and ran across the street, piling into Ryan's car and slamming their doors only moments before he peeled away from the curb. Sara turned around to see Gil, but he was not watching her go—the damn truck had arrived.

She waited until they'd gotten home and closed themselves up in their bedroom before she exploded.

"_What_ on _earth_ do you think you're doing?"

Tina grinned and laid back on her bed. "I'm helping. Didn't you see how he was staring at you? Guys always want what they can't have—especially if they can't have it because some other guy's got it."

Not Grissom, Sara's head argued, while she leveled a glare. "Unless they're guys who've probably never had a girlfriend and who would be intimidated by that kind of competition. In which case, that information just scares them off. Seriously, Tina, you can't just do that without asking me!"

She rolled her eyes, completely unaffected by Sara's barely restrained temper. "I just did. Look, if this doesn't work, then I'll never interfere again, but sometimes you just have to trust me. I know what I'm talking about."

"If this doesn't work? Tina, if you scare him away now, I may never get another chance. This is not an 'I'll-do-better-next-time' kind of thing!"

She raised an eyebrow. "So you don't get another chance with him. He's just one guy; you hardly know him. It's not like there won't be others." She snorted. "Or, what? Did you think you were going to marry someone you met in high school? I thought you were worldlier than that. You _do_ know that you can go to school and travel and have your own career, right?"

Sara clenched her teeth. Tina didn't know, couldn't possibly understand, so her comments made sense. How should she know how Sara had fought for her rights as a woman her whole life? How Sara had grown into adulthood in a world that was still adjusting to women in the workplace and how she had still chosen a male-dominated career, despite how much more difficult she knew it was for women in law enforcement? After a long moment, she exhaled. "Tina… Liking one guy—and wanting _him_, not just _any_ guy—doesn't qualify as a betrayal to the movement. I just… really like him, and I want you to stop manipulating the situation without my permission."

The redhead frowned, and then shrugged. "Fine. Your loss, I guess." And with that, she bounced out of her bed and out of the room, leaving Sara alone with her anger, which had by no means dissipated. It would be so much harder, now, to ask Gil to the dance. _Ten guys?_ Sara wasn't sure she knew the name of ten guys they went to school with. What if he asked her about it? What would she do? She couldn't tell him that Tina had lied outright, because she had no explanation for why she would lie about such a thing. She couldn't just admit she liked him, could she?

Her teenage-self insisted that No, that was not an option.

She plopped herself back onto her own bed in frustration. Every time she thought she'd gained a little ground, something blew up in her face. She decided that she hated dances. And Tina. And Wes Craven. And delivery trucks, for that matter; Gil shouldn't have even been outside. She was never going to a movie again.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Thanks, as always, for the wonderful reviews. There's some of Grissom's POV in this chapter, which many of you have asked for, so I hope you enjoy!

As always, thanks goes to PatiH, my awesome beta, who is posting her fantastic story, "To Iracambi," a chapter a day. If you haven't checked it out yet, you should. :)

* * *

Chapter Fourteen:

He tugged his blankets up in frustration, rolling onto his side and looking at his bedside clock. It was past one a.m., he had church early the next morning, and he couldn't sleep. He'd seen Sara earlier that day, outside the gallery, and had made a complete fool of himself. Sure, he'd gotten over his inability to think of anything to say to her when they were in school—Friday, actually, had been a great day. They'd begun to plan their Chem. project, they'd managed to survive Halstead's awful class by telling jokes most of their classmates would never understand, and even though she hadn't been able to come over, she'd touched him, and looked really disappointed, and licked her lips beautifully.

He squeezed his eyes tight. Remembering her licking her lips, laughing at his jokes, red coloring her cheek bones and sweat making her hair all the curlier… it was not going to help him get any sleep. It was… exceedingly distracting.

Friday had been a very good day, but today… he'd stared at her, doing his best impression of a goldfish. He'd tried to get out of having to converse with her at all, because the moment he saw her, his palms got sweaty. In the bright sunlight, there were tints of gold in her hair that made her look almost ethereal. …Athena, he decided, not Aphrodite. Not that she was not beautiful and sexy, but he always imagined Aphrodite as a more beautiful version of the popular girls at school—love-sick, blonde, giggly… easily impressed by any flexing gladiator and absolutely hopeless when it came to knowledge about something other than floating on sea foam and flirting. But Athena… Goddess of Light, Wisdom, War—Sara was a fighter, deep down in her very being—and the Protector of the Vulnerable.

He groaned and rolled onto his stomach, trying to discourage his all-too-male response. Athena was one of three virginal goddesses, and every time he attempted to contemplate her sexual history he got both angry and aroused.

Had ten guys truly asked her to the dance? He hadn't even realized there was a dance coming up, and Sara certainly hadn't mentioned it. They'd just been talking about him getting his license next Friday. Wouldn't she have said, 'Oh, the night of the dance?' or something?

Maybe she was afraid he would ask her to go if she mentioned it. If she already had nine guys to turn down, once she made her decision, she probably didn't want another. Especially since they were working on a project together and… were friends. They were friends, weren't they? They ate lunch together every day, and sat together in their shared classes, and she walked him out to his bike more days than not. Other than Tina, and the girls at Tina's lunch table, he didn't even think he'd seen her talk to anyone else. She was the new girl, and he kinda thought that… well, they were both 'smart kids' who didn't buy into all of the normal high school crap. He thought that she was as much of a loner as he was.

Rick liked her, that much was obvious, and then that stupid guy with his gerbils or whatever… and it wasn't like she hadn't drawn the attention of most of the male population at the school. He'd heard them discussing her in half his classes, the first week or so of school. She just… wasn't like the other girls, and they had noticed.

Maybe Tina had been exaggerating. Maybe Rick and gerbil-guy and one guy she didn't know had asked her, and she was just hyperbolizing.

Not that it mattered. He certainly wasn't going to ask her. Even if she didn't have ten guys waiting on her, a dance wasn't really his thing. He didn't know how to dance, and he didn't do well at social functions, especially not at school. Maybe he'd pretend he'd forgotten all about the dance, and ask her on Monday if she wanted to work on their project this Friday. And if she said yes, well, then she really didn't want to go with any of those other guys, right? She seemed like she could like him. More than any other girl had, anyway. …More than anyone did, really. He'd spent so much time trying to remain unseen, to avoid the tortures of high school, and somehow she'd still seen him.

She looked at him, sometimes, like he was all she saw.

…That was stupid. He clearly needed to get some sleep, before he convinced himself that she liked him and made a bigger fool of himself by actually asking her to the dance.

He closed his eyes. No, she would never go with him, and he would never ask, but it was oddly serendipitous that he would be getting his license the day of the dance, wasn't it? He'd promised her a ride, after all, and most of the guys in their grade didn't have cars. Would she be impressed if he pulled up to her house to pick her up, all alone? No parents driving them, enforcing curfew, monitoring their conversations, watching if he tried to hold her hand…? Sure, it was his mom's car, but still. Maybe he'd take her to eat first. He didn't have a lot of money saved because he'd been trying to fix up his dad's car and buying necropsy equipment, but he could buy them burgers. Maybe they'd share an order of fries and get a milkshake, with two straws. They'd both lean forward to drink at the same time, and their faces would be so close together, and…

No, he wouldn't kiss her before he'd even gotten to dance with her. If he was honest with himself, he'd probably be way too scared to kiss her anyway. But if he could work up the courage, that would not be the moment. They'd go to the dance, and maybe he would have looked up how to dance in a book—they had to have one at the library, right?—or maybe he'd just watch the others and do what they did. Either way, she'd think he was a great dancer, and then there'd be a slow song, and he'd pull her close, and she'd look up at him in that way she sometimes did, that made him feel like he was all she saw, even if he wasn't. He'd look into her dark eyes, and they'd lean closer together, and…

No, that wasn't the moment either. He'd be a perfect gentleman, getting her punch and dancing close, but not too close, and making sure she had a good time. And then, when the dance was over, he'd drive her home slowly, soft music playing in the car. He'd walk her to the door, and she'd tell him how much fun she had, and her eyes would be bright again, the way they looked when she was laughing and speaking animatedly about anything, and then—when he stepped closer and cupped a cheek gently—they would move together fluidly, and the kiss would be perfect. Soft, gentle, perfect. She'd say goodnight and go to bed thinking how romantic he was, and how respectful to've not mauled her, and maybe even thinking how good a kisser he'd been.

How hard could it be?

But this was all stupid, because he wasn't going to ask her, because he wasn't going to go. If he and Sara ever kissed, it would probably be over his anatomy book, and he'd just be lucky if she didn't slap him and run away to tell her friends, who would then publicly ridicule him for thinking he even had a chance with her.

He sighed heavily. With thoughts like that, who needed a cold shower? …Now if he could just get his mind to turn off so he could get some sleep; his mom would be so mad if he was fighting to keep his eyes open in church tomorrow.

He sat up, punched his pillow in aggravation, and lay down again, trying to get comfortable. For a guy who'd never been on a date, much less kissed a girl, this one was certainly causing him a lot of trouble.

* * *

Monday was uneventful, up until the end of the day. Friedman talked all through Chemistry, and lunch was spent discussing their project. Gil seemed like he wanted to ask her something, and she hoped foolishly that he would be asking her to the dance, but he never actually said whatever was on his mind, and she didn't want to push him and end up scaring him away. Halstead was less angry after the weekend, but still had them running laps through the entire period. Despite this, he settled down with his radio rather than watching them and yelling at those who slowed to walk or get a drink, and it was a fairly easy, if quiet, gym period.

They both had to run up and collect homework from their lockers, and so they were climbing the stairs near the locker room when Sara got her first good look of Rick, who had avoided her during gym, rather than seeking her out as usual. He was surrounded by a group of friends, telling them what was apparently a very crude story about how he'd gotten his black eye.

"…so she knees me in the face, you know, because she's just so eager…"

Gil, in the meantime, is beside her, keeping up his own end of the conversation. "…so if you wanted to work on it Friday, I could come pick you up after my test and then drop you off when we're done. I promised you a ride and I thought that—"

"Hey, um…" She glanced between him and Rick, and bit her lip in indecision, but she couldn't fight the guilt moving through her. "Listen, can I meet you up at your locker and we'll finish this conversation? I just have to do something quick."

Gil's features took on the closed expression he had worn when she had first met him, but he nodded and moved up the stairs, glancing back in time to see her pushing through Rick's group of laughing jocks to grab him by the shirt sleeve and drag him away from them. She felt guilty, and hoped that Gil would let her explain, but she couldn't just let this go without trying to help.

Once having found a deserted area of hallway, Sara looked up at him and allowed herself to eye his bruising more critically. It was splotchy and several shades of dark purple, and implied a great amount of force. She swallowed, and sighed. "Listen, Rick, I know that we haven't really gotten along so far, but—"

"You've realized how badly you want me? Don't worry, babe; I've been expecting this." He gave her a wink and his hand slid around her waist, trying to drag her against him. She huffed in frustration, slapping his hand away, and shook her head.

"Listen, you egomaniac, this has nothing to do with your raging hormones. I… wanted to apologize. I didn't know that Frank talking to your dad would… cause you so much trouble."

His eyes darkened, and he glanced around to make sure they were alone. "I don't know what you're talking about, Sara. My dad just thinks you're a stupid whore and a tease, and that you were asking for it."

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again, trying to remain unaffected. "Okay. That's fine. I'm not trying to impress your dad. But I want you to know that there are places you can go for help. You can talk to the police. …It doesn't have to be like this, for you. You don't have to let him hurt you."

He sneered. "Why, is that what happened to you, you little foster bitch? Your daddy beat you? Did he touch you? Is that why you're suddenly being nice when you've looked down on me from day one? Sorry, I don't need your false sympathy."

She watched him through sad eyes, and nodded. "We did get off on the wrong foot, and I understand why you would think me insincere. To answer your question… Yeah, my dad hit me a lot, but it was a lot worse for my older brother, because he tried to protect me and my mom." The flicker in his eyes betrayed his similar situation, but Sara worked to keep her face neutral. "I was a lot younger than him, and really couldn't help him, and the night we got taken by social services, my father had nearly killed him. …Just because it hasn't gotten that bad yet, doesn't mean it won't. You have options, Rick."

"Oh yeah? Do you think Mr. Wilson would take me in, just like you? Maybe we could share a bed…" He licked his lips suggestively, and Sara sighed, not wanting to give up, but knowing the limits of her temper. He wasn't going to listen to her if she hauled off and punched him again. …And she was sick of going to detention after school. Instead, she nodded.

"Just think about it, please."

And she walked away, ignoring him shouting after her, "Oh yeah, baby, whenever you need this again," and though she couldn't see him, she was quite certain he'd emphasized the word 'this' by some sort of crude gesture, "you give me a call, honey!"

She rolled her eyes, walking past his jeering friends again without comment, though they had clearly heard his shout, and made her way up another flight of stairs, hoping she could still catch Gil at his locker. She was pretty sure he'd been asking her to come over—to work on the project, of course—and it had just been awful timing for her conscience to kick in.

She passed her own locker on the way to his, but both were deserted. And though she expected as much, her heart sank when she finally reached the bike ramp to find he'd already gone.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: Sorry, once again, that I've been away for so long. The wedding is this Saturday, less than a week away, and after that my life should go back to normal! :) Thanks for sticking with me during this busy time in real life. Almost there!

And, of course, thanks to Pati, who is my beta extraordinaire and bff. She's responsible for reminding me to post chapters when I have so much on my mind it doesn't even occur to me. If you're glad to see this update, shoot some kudos her way!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Fifteen:

He seemed normal, Tuesday. He wasn't mean or aloof, but rather smiled at her as if he had not walked out on her the day before, when she had asked him to wait. When Friedman began speaking, she contemplated confronting her friend, thinking that the very best thing she could do would be to get it all out in the open. Gil was not as maturely compassionate as Grissom, and so she couldn't be certain he would see the situation in the way she did, but he was never unkind; how could she even be attracted to him if he were?

No, he would understand, but…

Well, every time she had been open about her feelings with Grissom, it had left him speechless, and then he'd retreated. Sara was making progress with Gil, and she didn't want to scare him off like his adult counterpart. If he was acting normally, maybe it really was best to drop the subject until it came up again.

Still, she wanted to reach out to him. She wanted to keep their relationship moving in the right direction, so to speak, so she took a different gamble. She turned her notebook page, choosing not to take notes on a subject she was too-well-acquainted-with to need, and scrawled an untidy message to him, before sliding the notebook across the black-topped lab desk.

_Should we work on our project after school? We could write up a hypothesis? Plan our first attempt?_

When the notebook slid against his elbow, he looked at it in surprise, before looking to the front of the room in alarm, making sure that her illicit activities were not gaining the attention of their teacher. Finally, he glanced down, reading along the line and taking a long moment to think about it, before pulling it in front of him and writing his response.

_Mom needs help in the gallery tonight. Sorry._

No attempt to make plans for another date this week, no excitement for their science project, no apparent desire to spend any time with her at all. She felt her face fall, and tried to hide the disappointment and rejection on her features, giving him what she hoped was an understanding smile and a nod. She wasn't sure how effective it was—he frowned and looked concerned.

Sara hastily took her notebook back and turned back to her notes, pretending to listen to Friedman and attempt to catch up. She felt her eyes burning, and tried very hard to remind herself that she was not an adult asking her boss to dinner, and that this rejection was different. It was a school project, Gil was a sixteen year old boy, and he was insecure. She knew exactly what had caused him to leave without waiting for her the previous afternoon, and so it should be no surprise to her that he was reluctant now.

Even so, it was a relief when the bell rang and they could part ways. Though she sincerely wanted him to meet her for lunch, as usual, there was a part of her that wondered if it wouldn't be easier on both of them if he didn't show again. Her sad attempt at bridging the gap that he'd been ignoring had only served to bring it into focus and now things were… awkward.

Neither Gil nor Grissom knew what to do in awkward situations.

Though her English class was uneventful, more often than not, today turned out to be interesting enough to distract her from thoughts of her teenage love, at least temporarily. They were supposed to pair off to do a project on an American poet of choice, and while her classmates chattered and paired off immediately, and Sara waited to find who would be the other odd man out in the group and, therefore, her partner, Ryan made his way over to his newest foster sibling.

He plopped into the chair in front of her, his smile just a little too bright. "There once was a man from Nantucket."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't think that counts as American Poetry."

He grinned. "So you'll be my partner?"

She frowned in surprise, but shrugged. "I… guess. You the odd man out of your jock friends?"

To her surprise, he blushed a little, and for a terrible moment Sara imagined that he had developed a crush on her. Though she had personally never dated any of her foster brothers, she had witnessed the outcomes of such disastrous relationships, and had no desire to enter into one, even if Gil hadn't been in the picture. Best case scenario, this could only end in an uncomfortable, strained relationship. Worst case scenario…

"Okay, you caught me. I… need to bring my English grade up in two weeks, or I'll be put on probation on the team." When she stared at him blankly, he clarified, with a little bit of panic in his tone. "I won't be able to play!"

Understanding dawned, and she smirked as relief moved through her. "Ohhh, I see. …What is it going to take to lift your grade enough for you to play?" She asked, already plotting. Ryan had a car, and life had been so much more difficult for her without a car.

"I need to ace this project. And the next test. …And even then, I'm cutting it close."

She appraised him, and then nodded. "Okay… but you're going to need more than me doing this project for you. If you're going to get an A on the next test, you're going to need a tutor…"

His grin widened. "I thought, you know, that while we're working on the project, you might just… fill me in on whatever I've missed."

"That," she smirked, "will come at a price."

* * *

By the time she got to lunch, she was so filled up with the prospect of all she could accomplish with a car at her disposal that she waltzed into her Latin class beaming, and didn't give a thought to the discomfort of that morning as she shared her excitement with Gil. It passed too rapidly, with no talk of their project or when they would be meeting, but at least it wasn't a long, silent affair in which they were both regretting their presence.

Halstead, for his part, was easing up a little. He still made them run laps for half the period, but after that he brought out the cart of basketballs and told them just to free-shoot while he settled himself next to his radio up in the bleachers. Sara rolled her eyes at the man, but she was grateful for his lack of attention in their direction. Most of the boys took up a game of Lightning at one of the hoops, and the girls were split up between two of the others, leaving one free for Gil and Sara to shoot at. Neither was particularly good at it, but they weren't bad either. They made as many as they missed, and ran around laughing and trying to steal the ball from one another, which resulted in no shortage of innocent, incidental touching.

When they separated, Sara to Ryan's car and Gil to his bike, there was a close kind of comfort between them. The kind that comes from the delicious tension of touching and not being reprimanded or judged, when you thought for certain that you would be. Sara was all smiles that night, and so when Frank questioned how things had been going at school since he'd spoken to Rick's dad on Friday, she didn't really think there was any reason to share the encounter from after school. Sure, the asshole deserved to get in trouble, but no doubt he would take it out on Rick, who didn't deserve it. It had been a minor issue, though alarming to've come from a parent, and Sara thought all would be better off if she kept it to herself. Did she really think that Frank could get Rick out of the situation anyway, considering that he wasn't going to admit what was happening?

No. Telling Frank would only hurt Rick in the long run, and for what? Had she truly been so uncomfortable with the snide, snarking, spitting man that she would risk the poor boy's well-being? Of course not.

She regret that decision first thing the next morning when, in the process of walking to her Chem class, a hard shoulder knocked into hers and nearly spun her around with its force. A glance up and behind her, where the passing assailant now was, revealed a grinning Rick who promptly made a peace sign with his fingers and put it up to his mouth to change its meaning entirely. She made a disgusted face, and he and his group of friends laughed, walking away. She couldn't disguise her scowl of distaste, nor how much her shoulder hurt as she rubbed it gingerly. For a moment her temper flared, and she thought he could take care of his own fucking self if he was going to be such a dick to the only person who wanted to help him… and then it cooled as she remembered her own lingering trust issues. She had been pulled from that life long before her junior year of high school, and she couldn't expect Rick to change overnight.

"Are you okay?"

She jumped about a foot at Gil's voice behind her, and she scanned his face for some indication of how long he'd been standing there. It gave her nothing, of course, but to her great surprise, he just told her. "I, uh… saw what he did to you. That's just… gross. Come on, let me look at your shoulder."

And with the finesse of a man older and more confident than Gil, and certainly smoother than Grissom, he steered her into their empty classroom and into her seat at their back lab table, before pulling aside the neckline of her shirt to look at her already-bruising shoulder, apparently oblivious as to how intimate this encounter was. He made a noise of distress while his gently calloused fingers slid over her exposed skin, and Sara wondered if he could tell that her pulse was racing and her breathing was shallow. She eyed his face for any sign that he knew what kind of effect he was having on her, and realized something.

"You got new glasses!"

He looked up at her in surprise, letting her shirt fall back into place, and smiled. "Yeah. Can't really take my driver's test without them."

"I thought you only needed them for reading?" She asked, and then did everything she could to not openly cringe at her blunder. Gil had never told her such a thing, and until Rick had broken them, he'd worn them every day, without fail, reading or no. She should not know that his adult counterpart only wore them for doing paperwork.

Gil gave her a curious look. "I… guess that's true. I just don't want to screw up because I could have had them on and didn't. I don't want to fail because I… I don't know, read the speedometer wrong, or something."

She quirked a smile, letting it pass, but wondering at why he did wear his glasses all the time, now that she thought of it. Was it merely a convenience? A comfort? Another way to distance himself from his classmates and hide from the world? "I'm sure you'll pass. Where are you going to take me, once you're a licensed driver?" She teased, and he blushed, and smiled a little.

"Where do you want me to take you?"

She felt herself go red straight to her roots, and laughed a little, to buy time, trying to think of something cute and flirtatious to say. She lost her chance, then, when Friedman entered the room and smiled back at them, interrupting their solitude. "Morning Mr. Grissom, Miss Sidle. Can't wait for Friday to see what project you're cooking up!" And with that, he moved into his office off to one side of the room, next to the store room.

They looked at each other, their moment interrupted, and Gil cleared his throat. "…Maybe we should work on that, after school? I don't want to leave it to the last minute..."

"Yeah, we should. I, uh, I'm pretty sure I can get Ryan to come pick me up again, if we can stay here late? …Or, did you mean, at one of our houses?"

He blushed then, and shook his head. "Oh, no, I… I meant here. I… I'll ask Friedman."

And he was up and out of his seat before she could utter another word.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Disclaimer: I don't own them. :(

A/N: Okay, wedding, check. Exhausting trip to Vegas for two of my friends' wedding, check. I should finally have some time on my hands for writing! :) Hope you guys enjoy this chapter.

As always, I owe so very much to Pati, my beta extraordinaire, without whom this story would likely have never gotten up on its feet. And, of course, without whom, there would be maaaany, many typos in this chapter.

Reviews, yes?

* * *

Chapter Sixteen:

"I think we need to focus on making a successful smoke bomb first. Getting the ratios right. We can worry about adding color and controlling the release once we know what we're working with."

Sara smiled. She could easily tell him the ratio to work with, and she had a pretty good idea exactly how to change the smoke's color, but there was no fun in experimenting if she threw her adult knowledge into the mix. "Should we start with some basic ratios, to see which is most effective? Fifty/fifty, twenty five/seventy five and vise versa… maybe sixty six/thirty three or sixty/forty?" She knew, of course, that the last would be the best choice, but she was trying to contribute without taking over.

He immediately went to work writing out their plan of attack on the sheet of paper Friedman had handed out the week before. "So we'll experiment with ratio—What's our hypothesis? Too much sugar would probably slow the reaction, even make it hard to start…"

"Whereas too little would likely make it unstable, and it would burn too fast. And the baking soda—"

"—will help prevent it from getting too hot. That'll be important once was start thinking about controlling the smoke…" He was still scrawling on the paper as he spoke, his writing a slightly less-perfect version of adult-Grissom's beautiful script, his voice animated with excitement over the prospect of getting to mix fire and chemistry, no doubt. "What ratio do we think will be most effective? I'm thinking that fifty/fifty will be the easiest to gauge how to improve, no matter what the reacti—" He paused, frowning, his eyes focused behind Sara.

She frowned at him in confusion, and glanced over her shoulder as well. Paul, holding a wiggling Ernest (Arnold had been a medium brown, while this mouse was a light tan, almost white in places), and glancing surreptitiously through the open doorway between classrooms. Against her wishes, a light blush slid over her face, both at the realization that Paul was looking at her, and that Gil was decidedly upset about it. She turned back to him, but he was already looking back to the paper, writing in silence this time, his writing noticeably less neat.

Taking a chance, she slid her palm over his bare forearm, stilling his writing and drawing his eyes. "Gil…"

She had no idea what she intended to say, following his name, only that she wished to reach out to him and reassure him that no matter who peered at her through classroom doorways nor who leered at her in gym class, he was the only one she was looking at. Their eyes met, deep, endless blue, and silky, multi-faceted brown, and there was an unbelievable moment in which she was quite certain they would both lean into one another and have their very first kiss at their lab table, within sight of both Paul and Friedman.

He broke the gaze first, his ears red and his face twisted just enough out of its impassive expression for her to know that he was confused and uncertain, and that he didn't know where to go with what was before him. ...She needed to make a statement. She needed to give him a push in the right direction, but even as she opened her mouth to ask him to the dance, she remembered how easily—how condescendingly—he had refused her before. How, in another life, she'd be in this same place, and taken the chance, and only succeeded in pushing him away, rather than pushing him towards everything that could be great between them.

She hesitated, and eventually turned her own eyes to her paper, and after a long minute, Paul made the move she'd been far too afraid to.

"Hey, it's Sara, right?"

She looked up in alarm at the boy, who was smiling at her from just her side of their doorway, Ernest still struggling in his grasp. She could hardly ignore the boy, but she thought that maybe if she was distant, he would take a hint…

"Yeah, it is. Listen, we were in the middle of planning a project, so…"

"No, I know, me too. I just… I'll make this quick then. I, ah… I was wondering if you'd, maybe, uh… want to go to the dance with me, this Friday? I… I could pick you up or… or meet you there and…" He licked his lips and swallowed, completely oblivious to Ernest's attempts to free himself. "…and, so, uh… What do you think?"

Sara's heart went out to the boy. He had put himself out there, just like she had, and though she knew that he could not possibly feel the way about her that she felt about Grissom—Gil—rejection sucked at every level. With a sigh of regret, she glanced at Gil, before moving over to Paul. She didn't need to humiliate him in front of a third party, too. That was just adding insult to injury.

The three of them—Paul, Sara, and Ernest—moved through the open doorway, out of sight, and Sara crossed her arms protectively over her chest. He reminded her of Greg, in a way. Not so much in personality, but in that she knew that he was someone she could be happy with, had her heart not already been spoken for. And though this would not hurt her as much as hurting Greg did, she could already feel the awful, tightening in her chest that told her it wouldn't be easy, either.

"I, uh…" She bit her bottom lip. Best not to beat around the bush. That would only make it worse. "I'm really sorry, Paul. You seem like… like a great guy and… and we actually probably have a lot in common, but…"

"Someone already asked you?"

"No," she smiled, but it was wistful, and despite her best efforts, her voice came out the same way. "But I'm still kind of hoping…"

He closed his eyes, nodding. "I get it." And the way his eyes flickered back to the still-open doorway told her that he did get it, probably more than she wanted him to.

"I'm really sorry."

"Hey, no problem. At least I tried, right? Better than not taking a chance."

She let her eyes scan his face, studying the sincerity there, and nodded again. "Yeah. …Yeah, you're right, it is." She turned to leave, and then glanced back. "…Thanks."

He smiled brightly, even if his body posture still spoke of disappointment. "No problem."

She hurried back to Gil, sliding into her vacated chair, only to find that he'd finished their assignment sheet, and was in the process of writing his name across the top. He ignored her bewildered expression and slid the paper over to her so she could add her name. She frowned at him. "Gil, listen—"

"I really wanna get home, Sara. My mom said she'd work on parallel parking with me, and we're done with the assignment, so…"

But Paul's words had filled her up with something very like courage, and she wanted to take a chance. "Will you go to the dance with me?"

He blinked in surprise, looking like she'd slapped him, rather than inviting him to a high school homecoming dance. "I… Sara, I…" He looked down at his lap in distress, but when he met her eyes again, the expressionless mask was in place. "…No-o." And though it was not nearly as strong as Grissom's had been, this rejection too held a note of disbelief, like she was foolish for even asking… for ever having hoped.

She felt the air leave her lungs in a gust, like a deflated balloon, and realized that she'd been holding her breath. She wanted to ask why, but couldn't seem to send the message from brain to mouth to draw in air, much less speak. And Gil did not give her a chance to get her bearings. He cleared his throat, nodded to himself more than to her, and stood, packing up his backpack. "I… I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow."

This time, the words came without effort at all. Almost as if someone else were speaking them. "…Yeah. Tomorrow."

He rushed out, and Sara wasn't sure how long it was before Friedman moved out of his office, offered her a smile, and pointed out the time. She just knew that she hadn't moved an inch between the two events.

Numbly, she packed up her bag and trudged out of the school to Ryan's waiting car, wondering if she'd screwed everything up by making her move too soon, or if she'd been destined to fail from the start. Grissom had not loved adult Sara Sidle, and so why had she ever believed that Gil would love the teenage version? If anything, she had only improved with age. …Maybe the whole point of this bizarre happening was not to give them the chance they deserved, but to hammer into her stubborn skull that in any place, in any world, in any lifetime, she wouldn't be good enough for him.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: The outpouring of reviews for the last chapter was overwhelming. I can't thank you all enough. ...But, I did think that it warranted an early posting of the next chapter. So, yay! :) Happy, Kathy? Lol.

As always, this chapter is only decent because my super-awesome-totally-spectacular-absolutely-amazing beta, Pati, made it so. :) Thank you, dear!

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Seventeen:

"Gil," his mom's voice slid tentatively across the console, slightly muffled. It was a sound he hadn't heard in… months, at least. He sighed and turned his gaze to her, sheepish. "What's bothering you?"

He blinked slowly, and shook his head. He wasn't focusing. He had been a master at parallel parking, and now all of a sudden it was taking him fifteen minutes of back-and-forthing to get into a spot at all, and none too neatly. She could tell he was distracted, getting frustrated, feeling impatient… His mother had always been very good at reading people's nonverbal cues, and no one so well as his.

"…You and dad were high school sweethearts, weren't you?"

He signed this, rather than speaking it, because he was choosing to avoid meeting his mother's eyes. Even so, he couldn't help stealing a glance at her as he moved his thumbs over 'sweethearts', wondering at her reaction. He was dismayed at seeing the shift in her—the softening in her eyes. He knew that she hadn't gotten over his father's death, and recognized the sadness in her as a familiar, aching friend. He blamed himself for bringing that emotion to the surface for her, wishing he'd kept his thoughts about his father in silence, like usual. Mixed in with this guilt, there was an altogether new emotion: embarrassment. The soft look in her eyes was a little different—like she'd seen something in him she'd never seen before, and it made her… wistful.

He frowned and turned back to the steering wheel, and his mom spoke again, maybe because he wouldn't look at her, or maybe because she felt it was important enough to give voice to. She did that sometimes.

"We were. ...There are times in your life when you meet someone, and you just know. I've never met anyone in my life as perfect for me as your father was. We were like two sides of the same coin." Gil nodded, trying to recover his impassive face, while his mother continued. "Why don't you just ask this young lady to the dance tomorrow night?"

He looked up at her in surprise, and she smiled wryly. "Nothing less than a woman could come between you and this driver's license. Don't think I don't know that. …Is it Sara?"

"No!" he insisted, while his heart thumped erratically at hearing _her_ name from his mother's lips. It made it too real, too present, too insistent.

She smiled like she knew exactly what to make of his denial. "I can teach you how to dance, Gil. There's nothing a girl likes better than a man who can dance…"

He glanced at her out of the side of his eyes, and thought about asking if Dad had been a good dancer. If he'd taken her to a high school dance, or shared a milkshake with two straws. After a moment, he disregarded that thought. He could handle not knowing those things if it kept the soft, sad look at bay.

"…I think I'm just not starting far enough up. Let me try again." He pulled out of the spot, and up to the next car on the street, ready to park between them. If there was any way to get his mom to stop talking about teaching him to dance and… _her_… it was to prove he wasn't distracted anymore.

This time, he put his back wheel up on the curb, and his mother failed to hide her smirk. He grit his teeth and took a long, deep, even breath, before letting it out slowly. He didn't often have trouble concentrating on things he really cared about, and he absolutely cared about passing his test.

Switching into drive, he smoothly pulled the car off the curb and back up beside the car he was attempting to park behind. With a little careful concentration, he lined himself up before gliding smoothly into the vacant space. His mother wisely bit her tongue, but could not possibly have removed her beaming smile to save her own life. Her baby boy had his first big crush since the whole fiasco with Nicole Daley in the second grade.

Gil, for his part, drove them home in silence—and stillness; she made no move to sign to him, and his hands were deliberately occupied at ten and two—and stalked off to his room to brood over his day, and the girl who was going to make him fail his driver's test. As if it wasn't bad enough that she'd already made him miss it once.

Sara was… just so complicated. He never felt like he got a solid enough read on her to really relax. She was his first real friend in quite a long time, and maybe that was why he was having so much trouble. He wasn't used to having to read anyone other than his mother, who wore her emotions on her face to add to her signing. He had learned at her knee how to communicate his emotions readily and clearly, and so it wasn't really any wonder that he also knew how to hide them… but Sara? Why should she be so good at hiding?

So good, in fact, that she had managed to avoid speaking to him all day, today. He'd gone into their class early that morning with every intention of behaving as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. She had allowed him to do so already in their friendship, and it meant that he would never have to explain his dismay at all the attention she so obviously received from the opposite sex. It wasn't even jealousy, really… It felt like a personal betrayal, when she'd left him sitting alone, doing their project, to talk to gerbil-boy about the dance. Just like she'd walked off to talk to Rick-the-dick when he was trying to invite her over to work on their project instead of the dance. It felt like every time they were making progress, and he thought there might be something between them, she went off with someone else, and he fell back into self-doubt and self-deprecation. What did he have to offer the smartest, most beautiful girl in school, after all?

And to've gone to the dance with her—especially when he felt as though she'd abandoned him, moments before asking him to go—would have opened a whole other Pandora's box of problems. He could not dance. What if he failed his test? Then he wouldn't be able to pick her up, unless his mom drove them, and…

Well, he hadn't exactly told Sara that his mother was deaf, yet. Maybe she already knew—it was a small town—but if she didn't, well… He wasn't ashamed of his mother by any means, he just didn't want Sara to think he was any weirder than she probably already did.

Regardless, he wouldn't know what to say to her… what she expected. Had she turned down gerbil-boy and asked him because they were friends? No pressure? Had she meant it as a date? And if she had, what would she have expected of him? Would he have to pick her up, take her to eat, kiss her? He couldn't even remember how she'd responded when he'd said no, because he'd been so flustered himself. He'd practically run from the room.

_What, exactly, had she wanted, in asking him?_

And this morning, she had 'Mmm'-ed in response to anything he said, and spent all of Chemistry class doodling in her notebook. Much to his dismay, the people she kept drawing were… well, male. And… attractive. Muscled and charming and conventionally handsome, like Clark Gable. Or… David Cassidy. There was even a dark-skinned boy whom she had a particular affinity for, which made Gil feel… uncertain. It wasn't that he'd never seen a Negro before, especially on his trips into Los Angeles, but he'd never met one. His mother, of course, had raised him to be more tolerant than his peers, and he supported the Civil Rights Movement and Dr. King's legacy, so it was not a judgment so much as... She looked like she drew from experience, and it only made her seem more worldly and daring and bold than he'd already been imagining her.

It was intimidating, and he stopped trying to talk to her.

He was not surprised when she did not appear during lunch, although he couldn't deny that he was… hurt. He had the urge to move to his seat in the back before she appeared for class, but he stood his ground, only to be rewarded by more silence, and more doodles. During gym, she did not come up to sit by him, at the top of the bleachers, but rather hunched awkwardly by herself, on the very bottom step.

It was no wonder he was so distracted.

He didn't even bother the next day, but he felt the awkward silence painfully throughout his day, and had trouble even mustering up excitement for his driving test. His mother had dropped him off at school that morning, and she picked him up that day so he wouldn't have to bike home before his test. He sat slumped in the front seat, brooding, and after a few blocks of this behavior, she lost her patience with him. "For goodness sakes, Gil, I thought you were excited about this. Now I refuse to believe that anything with this Sara can be so bad that you wouldn't still be happy to get your driver's license!"

He sighed heavily, his gaze sluggish as it moved to meet her eyes at the stoplight and then away. "You wouldn't understand, Mom." He signed, rather than speaking. She snorted out loud.

"Of course, Gil. You _are_ the first person in the history of this world to endure the particular tragedy of teenage love. Please, don't let me interfere at all."

He knew, of course, that she was baiting him. It was a tried and true method to break through his silence and get him to say what he was thinking, and she was a master at it. He'd gotten better at controlling his temper, but it was always there, under the surface, begging him to snap when she egged him on like this. So he did.

"This _isn't_ the same! You and dad weren't like this! And… and… And she's the prettiest, smartest girl I've ever met and she asked me to the dance and I told her no and now she won't speak to me! So I just _really_ don't think you have any advice that can fix this, okay?"

Her smirk told him she'd gotten exactly what she wanted from him, and against his will the back of his eyes burned in frustration. If he could just escape women all together…

"Gil, believe it or not, you mother was a teenage girl once. The fastest way to fix this is to show up at that dance, _grovel_, sweep her off your feet with your debonair dance moves… and then offer her a ride in your car—around the block mind you. Don't you take that girl anywhere disrespectful!"

He rolled his eyes and blinked against the sting in them, feeling miserable. "Mom… I can't dance, I probably won't get my license, and she wouldn't let me take her anywhere parking anyway. …It's pointless, okay?"

She shook her head. "Well, let's take that test first, and see what happens, hmm?"

Despite himself, his mother's words were ringing in his ears as he pulled away from the curb of the DMV with his driving examiner in the passenger seat. Rather than a distraction, they were a motivator. He did not inch above the speed limit, nor move a finger from ten and two. He kept his eyes on the road, stopped for pedestrians even before they reached the end of the sidewalk to look for cars, and he parallel parked like he'd been born to do so…

And when he had his license in hand, walking out of that building… he thought that maybe his mother wasn't so far off after all. He did have a license, and it couldn't hurt to apologize. He just needed to learn how to dance in the next few hours, and…

* * *

She was speaking again, rather than signing, which she had done an awful lot of in the past couple days. This time, it was because her hands were occupied—one clasping her son's sweaty palm, the other resting lightly on his dress-shirt-clad shoulder. She was so glad she'd been able to talk him into wearing his church tie; he was just so handsome, all dressed up.

"Now, you're going to lead me, so we'll do this one step at a time, and I'll follow you. There's three beats to follow. On one, step forward with your left, and I'll step back with my right. Okay?"

His deep blue eyes were riveted down at her feet, but he nodded.

"Here, let's walk through it. One…" He stepped his left, she backed up her right. "Now two, you'll step your right up and over, like a letter L." She demonstrated, and then resumed her position, letting him slowly and shakingly step through the motions, bringing her with him. "Now you want your weight on your right foot, because on three, left moves over to meet your right again." He did so, and then looked up at his mother for direction. She smiled.

"Now we do it in reverse, and start over… One… two… three… One… two—No, two. Like an L. Yep, perfect. Three. Uh huh. Now, one, two—ouch! Oh, no, honey, don't worry. Your father stepped on my toes a thousand times. Now, start again. …One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three. See? I knew you'd be a natural dancer, Gil. …This Sara is a lucky girl!"

He blushed, but his smile was wide, and he felt like if he could just be brave, things might turn out tonight.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI. Sigh.

A/N: ...I think you guys'll be pretty happy with this chapter. The next one is written, mostly, but needs some serious editing. I'll get it up soon, but I'm kind of itching to tackle All That Glitters next, so that might come first. :) Let me know what you think.

As always, thanks goes to my awesome friend and beta, Pati. She always goes above and beyond, and my writing is so much better because of her.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen:

"What do you mean, you're not going to the dance?" Amanda gasped out, scandalized, over their meatloaf dinner. Sara picked at the food, her stomach growling.

"I think she was pretty clear in her meaning, 'Mand." Frank offered, before shoveling an oniony bite into his mouth. Sara carefully kept herself from wrinkling her nose in distaste. Apparently she had an unexpected ally on this front, and she didn't want to offend him.

Instead, she turned to Amanda and offered a smile. "I just… I don't have a date and dances have never really been my thing. I'd rather stay home and… catch up on my homework!"

Amanda rolled her eyes, picking up her cleared plate and moving to the sink. "That's just nonsense, Sara. We both know you probably have all of your homework done for the next week. You don't need a date to go to the dance! Some nice young boy will ask you to dance when you get there!"

Sara frowned, "You mean instead of standing awkwardly by the wall?" The teenage boys she had known were the type to already have a date, or be way too shy to even approach a girl. There was rarely any in-between.

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean." Amanda said, a smile on her face over Sara's wry comment, but sternness in her voice that left no room for argument. "Now go put on your cute new skirt, and I'll pin your hair up for you. With your natural curl, it'll be easy."

"But—!"

"Do as you're told, Sara." Frank intoned, also standing to bring his plate to the sink, thoroughly ending any alliance she'd thought they'd forged. When he was stern, there was no arguing, and so with an undignified, entirely teenaged pout, Sara flounced from the table, emptied her plate, and stomped her way out of the kitchen without a word. This did not stop her from, once she entered her bedroom, pulling out the black skirt Amanda had bought her and several shirts. If she was going to be forced to go to this thing, she did at least want to look nice.

* * *

"Ryan isn't taking us?" Tina asked Frank, once they were seated in the car, Tina up front, Sara sullen in the back, arms folded across her chest.

"He's picking his girlfriend up for the dance and then taking her home afterwards—I'll pick you girls up at eleven when this thing's over." Sara, of course, had known that. Despite Ryan's apparently desperate English grade, he hadn't wanted to start any tutoring until after the dance. It was homecoming, so it was a big deal to athletes and their cheerleader girlfriends, apparently.

When he pulled up in front of the school—Tina wouldn't ask him to drop them around the block, though by her anxiety it was apparent she desired just that—there were lots of couples and circles of guys and girls outside the school, talking and admiring each other's dates and dresses. It was mostly non-formal; girls in dresses or skirts, guys in khakis or button downs, the occasional pair of jeans thrown in by a jock clearly advertising that he was too-cool-for-school. The school was close enough to the beach that, with the right wind, you could catch a whiff of salt in the air, and as they made their way nervously up the curb, a strong breeze brought the scent up.

The ocean had always been Sara's haven, her escape from the real world, and there was something bolstering about its scent in that moment. She breathed deeply and put a smile on her face—something her adult self had gotten very good at in recent years—and resolved to not make the experience worse than it already was.

"This way!" Tina said, and pulled Sara over to the group of lunch-table girls. Sara smiled while they talked and gushed over Tina's dress, and finally found a polite moment to break away from the group. The looks they gave her indicated that they didn't appreciate her attempts at tact, probably just waiting to comment on how she was always too good to spend time with them. She smiled all the same and headed inside, where more people congregated in the open area just outside the gym, where she imagined concessions were probably sold for basketball games. …Did they sell concessions at games in the 70's? Once again, she felt a little unbalanced, and turned her gaze to the table to the right of the large open gym doors. There was an actual punch bowl, the kind she'd only seen in TV shows and movies, and she found herself desperately hoping someone would spike it tonight.

Seeing no one dancing, yet, she couldn't lose herself in the crowd, and decided instead to make a trip to the bathroom. There was a line, of course, both for the stalls and for the sinks, where chattering girls reapplied their lipstick or borrowed their friends' makeup, not being allowed to wear it themselves. She waited patiently, and took her time in the stall, going through the periodic table in her head while she sat there. While waiting for a sink, behind girls who threw off-handed, insincere apologies over their shoulders, she smiled and told them it was just fine. Every second spent watching their inept attempts at applying eye shadow was a second she did not have to spend watching other people dance, and wishing Gil had come with her.

By the time she'd washed her hands and run her own quick visual sweep over her visage—black "hippie" skirt, layers of different fabrics and designs in 6 inch increments all the way to the floor, light blue shirt with little white buttons down the center, just fitted enough to give her a shape—the bathroom had emptied out considerably. Amanda had tried to talk her into a bright patterned shirt, but she was glad she'd gone more simply, even if she found herself still cringing at the fashions. Finally, Amanda had pinned her hair up to the crown of her head, leaving a few curls hanging down wistfully. Sara had to admit that that, at least, had been a nice touch.

When she exited the room, it was to find far more people inside. There were groups talking in the concessions area and in the decorated gym, but a few had started dancing. Sara wandered in, taking a cup of punch and—dismayed at its unspiked-state—looking for a place to plant herself for the night. She was doing her best not to focus on Gil, despite the situation she was in, but it was harder than she'd imagined when she'd given herself the pep talk in the bathroom.

She did find a secluded corner, near a bathroom that was locked for the night, and settled herself on one of the three rows of extended bleachers, hoping that this did not draw attention to her. There were non-dancers strategically placed along the walls of the gym, looking desperately pathetic, and she did not wish to join their ranks while she waited for this evening to end. It occurred to her that she might leave the school, go for a walk, explore her town a little—but the idea was rejected after a moment. She would likely get herself lost, and Amanda would be so hurt that she hadn't even tried to enjoy the dance.

Finally, she resolved herself to viewing the entire experience as an anthropological experience in a culture that would evolve into one she was familiar with. She catalogued their clothes, their mannerisms, their dance moves… Surprisingly, she knew most of the music. Her parents had played most of these tunes in the B&B on their good days. She almost wished she was somewhere a little more… formative. A little more… iconic. Something to represent the tumultuousness of the time and the rift between the generations. An anti-war rally, or a rock concert with pot smoke swirling around her head and LSD being passed around by questionable-looking college students, their hair and beards stereotypically long. Still, she was quite sure that she'd seen a pair of bell bottoms, just like Mr.-too-cool-for-school was wearing, on Lindsey when she was in the lab last…

How long had she been in the past, anyway?

She wasn't surprised when, no more than an hour into the dreadful experience, Paul moved through her vision, a girl in a pink dress tugging him along until they reached an area of open floor, where he pulled her into a slow dance. He was cute, and smart, and willing to put himself out there; guys like that didn't spend much time alone. Even so, for a brief, heartbeat-skipping moment, Sara forgot that she was an adult whose only real objective here was to start a relationship with Gil, and instead was every inch of her a sixteen year old girl who wished she'd taken the dance invitation from the cute, smart, charming stranger rather than holding out for her brooding, quiet, shy lab partner. She felt the sharp sting of rejection all over again, blinked against the welling tears in her eyes, and stood up to go for that walk after all—no way was she sitting through another three hours of this—when she caught sight of _him._

He was striding quickly through the gym, his cheeks a little pink, though she couldn't be sure if it was out of embarrassment or exertion as he looked like he might have run in. He was dressed in khaki slacks and a bright blue button down that, even from here, she could tell would have her swooning over his eyes. He was quickly stuffing something into his pocket and scanning the crowd in earnest. Though she had the pressing urge to sit, to hide, to avoid him as she had been ever since her botched invitation… There was a part of her that knew, instinctively, that he was not here for anyone else.

So when he finally caught sight of her, standing there, in the back corner, and turned his determined stride in her direction, it should not have sent her heart into overdrive, but it did. He continued right up to her and opened his mouth to speak. She expected him to falter, but no, after the briefest hesitation, he blurted out, "Can we talk outside?"

She bit her bottom lip, but nodded, turning towards the exit closest to the front of the school. He caught her arm and jerked his head in the opposite direction, over his shoulder, in a move that brought her back to the very first moment she'd met teenage Gil, when he'd jerked his head to have her follow him to their Chemistry class. Her heart fluttered against her will, and she let herself be guided back towards the bathroom that had been closed off. There was an emergency exit back in this secluded corner, hidden by the bleachers, and without concern for any kind of alarms he pushed it open and gestured that she precede him out.

They were in an alleyway between the gym and one of the Shop warehouses, and after a moment of consideration, Gil picked up a beaten up old piece of a broken 2x4 and placed it in the door jamb, presumably to keep the door from locking behind them. The music—American Woman by The Guess Who—was filtering out around them, much more quietly than before, and it lent a strange kind of ambiance to the alleyway which, she realized belatedly, was lit by the dimmed headlights of what must be his mother's car.

With shaking hands, she turned to him, seeing the sweat dripping down one side of his face, from hairline to temple to cheek before he wiped it away impatiently. He was nervous, and she knew that at some point his drive and confidence would hit a wall, and she put all of her mental effort into willing him not to lose momentum now.

"Sara, I…" He glanced at her nervously, and looked away. "I wanted to come to the dance with you. I… I shouldn't have told you no. …Are you here with someone?" He asked in alarm, clearly having just realized that she may have chosen one of her other ten supposed suitors to accompany her here instead. She blushed and smiled and shook her head no, unable to force words, despite her penchant for over-talking. She couldn't believe this might finally be happening for them, and despite her best efforts, felt tears welling again; she knew that if she spoke they would make themselves known, and it would certainly ruin everything.

He nodded resolutely, stuffing his hands in his pockets and scanning the dirty ground beneath their feet, gathering his courage again, before turning back to her decisively, his hands coming out of his pockets and dragging the tail end of what might have been a tie from one of them. "I just… Sara, I'm not really… I-I-I hide from people. I don't like to been seen, because… because no one judges the dead. The ghosts. Out of sight really is out of mind and, before you came along, I—" He sputtered to a stop, running a hand through his sweaty curls uncertainly, seeming to realize that in an attempt to explain himself, he had likely gone too far, exposing himself to more judgment and recrimination. Sara felt her heart breaking for the young boy who had so clearly experienced too much of life for his years—a condition she knew something about herself.

He finally looked up from his feet to meet her eyes, and there was such a look of pleading in them—desperate that she understand him without any more words or attempts to open that which he wished to keep closed. And something in her gaze must have told him that she did, because he smiled softly then, a bit wistful himself, and stepped towards her.

"…Would you dance with me, Sara? I really did want to come, tonight, and… and dance with you."

He held his hand out in a way that seemed too stiff and practiced to have come from anywhere but a mother, and she smiled and took it, still attempting to blink back her emotions. This was actually, finally, happening. She almost asked him to pinch her. Asked him if he was sure. If he didn't want to rethink his clearly impulsive change of heart.

"Yes," she murmured, and he smiled.

His hand slid to her waist and she felt her own fall to his surprisingly sturdy shoulder, more dense with muscle than she had expected for a sixteen year old science nerd. Oh, did it feel good to touch him. The light from his headlights shot over his face, creating muted shadows and highlights, outlining his features and making the moment seem all the more surreal. He tugged her closer, and started moving them gently to what she was only just realizing was a slow song drifting out to them. Had he heard the song and been prompted to ask her, or had some divine mechanism of the universe stepped in for them, once more? She could not place the song, but it did not seem all that important just now.

He did not look down at his feet, but his face was screwed up in too much concentration for talk, and his movements were precise and jerky, clearly being counted out in rhythm in his head. Still, his execution was flawless, he did not step on her feet once, and without conversation, she was left time to take in every detail of this impromptu moment. The scent of old cologne—older than the time they were in, even, and likely for a much older man—mixed with young sweat and nervous adrenaline. He was taller than her, with beautifully broad shoulders, and, in his concentration, had not realized how much closer he had pulled her to him. Their chests were brushing, sending shock waves of heat through her thin, teenage form, leaving her breathless and wanting.

And then the song drifted off, another fast one replaced it, and he seemed to realize their proximity with a jolt of surprise and embarrassment. He tried to pull back, and in desperation she pulled him back to her, into an embrace, trying to communicate non-verbally how much this had meant to her, and how very much she wanted to be close to him. She was trying to give him permission to touch her, and after a moment of stiff uncertainty, he let his arms move around her waist, hugging her tightly, breathing in deeply with his nose in her hair. It was a second of heady, dizzy, uncertain bliss.

When he pulled back in what she assumed was a retreat, she opened her mouth to protest and was surprised by the collision of teeth. He was kissing her. He had leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers and despite the crash of teeth and the sloppy, misaligned lips, it was quite possibly the most erotic moment of her life.

They pulled apart breathlessly, eyes shining in disbelief, Gil licking his lips and Sara wishing they were adults who had a place to go and enough experience to justify going.

With only a moment of uncertainty, Sara flung herself forward again, this time lining up their lips correctly and sinking into a much more natural, deep, powerful kiss. His lips were soft, and followed her lead, and opened under hers trustingly, hinting at the wet, warm taste of him. She wanted to snake her tongue into his mouth, and only barely restrained herself from doing so, reminding herself that no matter how desperately he was kissing her here in this dark alleyway, he was still a boy having what was quite likely his second kiss, ever, and she had no right to push the limits with him. But she wanted to.

They pulled apart again, and this time Gil did not look so bewildered by the events of the last few moments. He looked a little smug, a smile crossing his lips and making him look decidedly adorable. "I, uh… I have my mom's car. Do you wanna… go for a ride?"

Sara felt her eyes go wide, and she dug her fingers into the fabric of his shirt at his shoulders, where her hands still rested. "Yes!" She heard a positively girly giggle fill the air between them, and realized that it must be her, because he was still watching her with the same slightly arrogant, slightly disbelieving look, like a puffed up penguin who could not believe his good luck. "But, uh… I have to be back by the end of the dance. Frank is picking us up and…"

"Don't worry. I'll get you back on time."

Sara sighed happily and gushed out a slightly ridiculous, "Groooovy."


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI.

A/N: So so sorry I haven't updated this story in so long. I was working on All That Glitters, trying to get what I had in my head out before I lost inspiration, and then a few anonymous reviews made me too angry to write anything either way. BUT, why punish the masses for a couple people's cruel ignorance, right? :)

I hope you like this chapter. My beta, Pati, who has been doing her best not to hound me for updates on this (and failing) loves it. But I think she has an ulterior motive. ;) Thanks hon, you're a life saver in so many ways.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Nineteen:

"So, how did it go?" His mother signed the minute he walked in the door. The bright grin on his face—the one he couldn't stifle for the life of him—gave him away. The blush probably didn't help either. He responded with the pads of his fingers to his lips, the back of his hand moving down into the open palm of his other. _Good._

She knew her son well enough to know that this was all she was likely to get out of him, and decided not to point out the pink smear of what must be lip gloss in the corner of his lips. Good Catholic mother though she might be, it was about time her son found himself a girl.

…Sooner rather than later, though, she'd have to have the talk with him. The don't-you-dare-defile-that-young-girl-and-betray-your-religion-by-having-sex-out-of-wedlock talk. …But that, at least, could wait a night. She let him float dreamily off to his room to get ready for bed, uninterrupted.

Gil, for his part, hardly noticed that he had a mother once the initial confrontation was finished. He kept reliving the night in bits and pieces, flashes of memory here and there, as he changed into pajamas, brushed his teeth, and crawled under his covers, smile still firmly in place. It was late, he knew his mother would be asleep soon, and he had enough adrenaline coursing through him to keep him awake for the next year.

_He had been so nervous as they slid into the car, his hands gripping the steering wheel to hide their trembling. He had felt so confident only a moment before, when he suggested they take a ride. But now… Where was he going to take her? _

_They had just kissed, and Sara was infinitely worldlier than he was. Would she expect him to take her parking somewhere, so they could keep kissing? Or would that just offend her? He didn't want to seem presumptuous; if he was honest, he was scared to death at the idea of bringing her somewhere like that. _

_They could go to the beach, or just drive around, or—_

_Her stomach rumbled loudly beside him, and he turned to look at her in surprise. Even in the dark of the car, he could see that she was blushing, her smile sheepish. "Sorry. …Meatloaf for supper tonight. It's not really a vegetarian's first choice."_

_It was practically a godsend. _

"…_No problem. I'll buy you some fries."_

"_No, Gil, you don't have to—"_

"_I want to," he found himself insisting, feeling some of that confidence sneaking back to him. The smile on her face helped._

He couldn't believe he had finally kissed a girl! And not just a girl. _Sara_. The hottest, sexiest, most exotic girl at school. …No, not just at school. That he'd ever met. She was like another world, wrapped into a tantalizingly appealing package of flesh and curves and delicate muscle. She was also completely brilliant, which he'd always considered more important than her physicality, right up 'til the moment he'd collided with her. _And she had kissed him back!_ She had held him close, and let him take her for a milkshake and fries and… and she'd let him kiss her at the end of the night, before she snuck back into the back entrance of the gym to find Tina and claim that she'd never left the dance at all.

"…_Thanks. For the ride. And the fries. And the—"_

"_You're welcome." He said, feeling nervous now that he was pulled up behind the gym again. What if she got in trouble? What if someone saw the wood in the door and came out and found them? What if someone saw them at the diner and told her foster parents? What if they told her she could never see him again, or called his mom? He might lose his driving privileges before he'd even had a chance to _use_ his license. He might—_

_She leaned over and kissed him again, her lips half-on his, and he turned to line them up completely and put a hand to her cheek. He would be the first to admit he was a novice at kissing, but he liked to consider himself a quick study in most things. She wouldn't keep kissing him if he was an awful kisser, would she? _

_She pulled back, smiling shyly and blushing again, as if embarrassed she'd initiated so many times. …Well, he couldn't have her feeling that way. He pulled her back to him, kissing her again, wishing he could kiss her and kiss her and kiss her forever. _

_Whatever the consequences, tonight had been _totally_ worth it. _

…He didn't think he'd ever been accomplice to anything so… deviant. In his little town, the only thing that ever happened was skinny dipping, smoking behind the bowling alley, and getting caught necking in a car… None of which he'd ever come close to doing. But this… this was up there, deceiving parents, taking a girl out when they could easily get caught, kissing her so brazenly in the little alley behind the gym. She had felt so very good in his arms, and he would have remained pressed against her indefinitely if he hadn't been afraid that she would notice his overwhelming physical response to her presence.

Despite himself, a small groan escaped him, and his eyes slid closed, putting him back in the alley. He was kissing her again, feeling her body against his, warm and small, making him feel large and masculine, and he could not help but pull the waistband of his pajama pants down and bicycle his legs to get out of the damned things, before succumbing to a hand around himself. Father Thomas might not approve, but then again, Gil knew for a fact that the man had decided to be a priest while he was still in high school. It was entirely possible that Father Thomas had never kissed a girl. …And he therefore could not know, as Gil now did, how completely the reality overshadowed the fantasy of women. Kissing Sara…

_He inhaled deeply through his nose, trying to prolong the moment, and nearly swooned. _

_She smelled amazing. A wind-swept smell, like flowers in an open field, with a hint of salt in the air. Like the Elysian Fields could only smell. She made him want to be an epic hero, worthy of pursuing her._

_She pulled back, looking breathless and bright-eyed. Every inch the Athena he had imagined her. _

His eyes fluttered closed as the image of her in a flowing, toga-like gown drifted through his mind, but it couldn't really compare to how beautiful she'd looked tonight. He'd wanted to wind his fingers in those stray, dangling curls and pop each of the little white buttons of her shirt open until he revealed the creamy white skin beneath it.

He groaned again, his hand sliding slowly over himself. He knew it was a sin, and he even thought he might confess it, but for now there was no holding back or slowing down or talking himself out of it. Once he'd liberated her from her buttons and revealed the black lace of her underthings, he would move to the skirt, not pulling it down but rather hiking it up, revealing inch after luscious inch of those legs he could not help but notice in gym, when she wore those tiny shorts. She would be so beautiful, and she would kiss him again, and before he knew it they'd have scrambled out of the cumbersome clothing altogether and would be intertwined, their kisses continuous, breathing heavy, and…

He gave himself a moment to imagine the female form in a way he had not before—he had studied it in books, both art and anatomy, but never had he given his imagination free reign as to the feel of sinking into a woman. But now… Well, he knew from his anatomy book that she would be wet, and common sense told him it would be warm, and his imagination told him her muscles would squeeze him as he slid into paradise…

He gritted his teeth, tried to reign in his ragged breathing, and gave himself several blissful seconds of that imagining before the inevitable took over and he ejaculated in spurts between his pumping fist, ignoring the sweat sliding off his forehead and into the hair at his temples. Ignoring the mess, and the impossibility of hiding such a thing from his mother, who had only just changed his sheets, and the nagging of his conscience in the back of his mind. He allowed himself a blissful moment of believing that he had made love to her, guilt-free, and that the incredible way he was feeling at this moment was also a feeling he'd given her.

…The idea of seeing her lose control, like he just had…

Jesus Christ, he was getting hard again.


	21. Chapter Twenty

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI. Sigh.

A/N: Sorry for the delay. I had gotten it in my head that I would finish this zombie story I started more than a year ago by Halloween, so I could post it... and that obviously didn't happen. :( But, there's this for you guys at least.

Thanks, as always, go to my super-awesome-fantastical beta and friend, PatiH. I owe you so much, dear.

* * *

Chapter Twenty:

Sara spent most of Saturday vacillating between lazing dreamily about the house, lost in memory, and anxiously biting her fingernails, fearing the fallout. Gil had not, as Grissom was wont to do, freaked and tried to back out of what had happened between them as soon as it happened. No, he had seemed like he wanted nothing more, now that he had taken the plunge, than to remain in her presence indefinitely. As if he had no greater desire than to buy her fries and a chocolate milkshake and smile at her somewhat sappily over his whipped cream. But she couldn't deny that she was a little worried about what he would do once he found time to _think_ about what had happened. He was the same person as his skittish adult counterpart, and she would need to prepare herself—mentally, emotionally—for any negative fallout.

She knew he worked at his mother's gallery every weekend, and had half a mind to insist Ryan take her down there so she could see him, but she held herself back. She had asked him to the dance, and he'd retreated. She'd backed off and given him time, and he'd shown up to sweep her off her feet. She let him speak, let him lead, at the dance, and he'd kissed her. Grissom was a man who cared about control, and he was a master at compartmentalizing. It made sense that Gil would be similar. He had wanted to say yes to her invitation, and yet he'd said no, because he was insecure. She needed to let him get comfortable, and do things at his own pace, for this to work. Pushing got her nowhere.

Instead, she worked on steering her thoughts towards being dreamy rather than nervous, and tried not to think about Monday at all.

Saturday night, Amanda surprised her with a cake she had baked that day, in honor of Sara's 16th birthday. …Sara had known, of course, that it was her birthday. All day, in fact. But having one's birthday remembered—much less celebrated—was such a rare occurrence in her foster care experience that she had genuinely believed it would pass without notice. She had thought she would prefer it pass without notice, right up until Amanda put the cake in front of her, covered in lit candles, and everyone had sang to her—even Ryan and Frank. In messy frosting, clearly written by someone who was not a professional cake decorator, were the words: Happy Sweet Sixteen Sara! …The first time around, her sixteenth birthday had marked the transition from one foster home to another. The young couple she'd lived with had gotten pregnant, and all of a sudden they didn't want little delinquents around to corrupt their real kid. The new home smelled like chicken grease and unwashed children—a grimy, sweaty, desperate smell.

This was so much better, even though she hadn't known that she'd wanted any recognition at all.

Sunday, after church, she and Ryan sat down to work on English, primarily Hamlet. Which he apparently hadn't read at all, based on his rudimentary understanding of the plot. She had expected to be fielding questions about the protagonist's sanity, or the use of symbolism and metaphor. She expected to address the potential Oedipal complex between Hamlet and his mother, or Laertes' creepy relationship with Ophelia, or Polonius' hypocrisy.

Ryan did not know the characters, other than Hamlet, and that the ghost was his father.

Sara looked at him in disbelief for a long moment, then inhaled deeply. She wanted access to his car, and she should have known Ryan would need this level of help if he was failing. She could do this.

"Okay… let's start from the beginning. Hamlet is the prince of which country…?"

"…Danes?"

She pursed her lips. "Denmark. People from Denmark are called Danes."

"That's dumb."

Sara's eyes closed, her patience already protesting. "Regardless, he is the prince of Denmark. His father is dead, and his mother, the queen, is married to…"

"His father."

"His father is dead."

"Well, yeah, but they're still married. Like, if Frank died, it wouldn't be like Amanda had never been married."

"No, she would be a widow. Hamlet's mother is a widow, but she's also married. To her dead husband's brother."

"Geez! What a tramp!"

Sara grit her teeth, fighting to urge to roll her eyes or give him lecture on double standards between men and women. "…Hamlet thinks so too. That's why he's mad at his mother and his uncle, who is also his step-father. …Got it all so far?"

"Yeah. I got it. …But who is that Claudius guy?"

* * *

Despite her efforts, she had bitten her nails down to nothing by Monday morning, and entered their biology classroom with trepidation. He was already there, and the anxious way his head shot up to her when she walked in was proof enough that he, too, was nervous. How that nervousness would manifest itself, however…

She did her best to smile at him without looking nauseous, and moved to the back of the classroom, sliding into her seat beside him. "Hi."

"Hi," he said, and his voice cracked a little. His ears turned red, and Sara swallowed, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He stared at her as she stared back, and it didn't happen.

She finally let out the breath she'd been holding, and looked down at her ragged fingernails. She wanted to kiss him, or tell him how much fun she'd had Friday night, or kiss him. But… but she had to let him do things in his own time. If she came on too strong, he would shut down again.

"So… Do you think Friedman's corrected our first progress report yet?"

Gil looked half-disappointed and half-relieved, and Sara's stomach twisted in uncertainty. At the very least, though, he didn't shut down. "Yeah, you'd think so. If he had any corrections or suggestions, he'd want us to have them right away…"

"That's true. …We need to work on that this week. At least run the first trial, with the fifty/fifty baking soda to sugar ratio, so we can amend our hypothesis in this week's report.

"Well… We could work on it at my house. Tonight, if you wanted."

Sara grinned. "Yeah, that would be great. I'll have to check with Amanda, but it should be fine. …Is… are you sure your mom won't mind? Not having any notice, I mean."

"No, it'll be fine. I told her we'd be working on a project soon. Sara…"

She held her breath again, but the bell rang, and other students poured in the open door, and the moment was cut short. Sara exhaled in a huff, leaning her head against her left hand, frustrated… and then the miraculous happened. Her right hand, resting on the table, was covered by his—warm, wide, calloused—hand. She looked at him in shock, and though he looked a little like he wanted to retreat, he kept his eyes locked on hers instead. After a long moment in which her world stopped spinning and righted itself, and she realized he was probably waiting for some reassurance, she smiled and squeezed her hand around his fingers.

The first time they'd held hands. Well, as teenagers, anyway.

Her heart raced, her face felt hot, and memories of kissing him flooded her brain. She thought, for a wild moment, of leaning forward and pecking his lips, right there in their Chemistry classroom, with twenty other students present. She would have preferred they be alone, or course, but she just needed to feel _close_ and she had spent so much time reliving their stolen moments that she couldn't be certain which sensations were real or imagined anymore. She needed a refresher. She needed to run her tongue along that pouty bottom lip. She needed…

Friedman stepped out of his office and his door swinging shut behind him made her jump, snatching her hand out of his.

She needed to get a hold of herself.

"Alright, everyone with their lab partners? Good. I've got your progress reports," he started moving around the room, distributing them to their owners, "with comments, and I'd like to talk with everyone about their project today. So, while you're waiting for me to come around to you, discuss what I wrote with your partner, make plans for what you'll be working on this week, etcetera, etcetera."

He placed their paper smack in the middle of their shared desk, and moved to the front to meet with his first students. Sara and Gil both leaned in to read what might have been the worst handwriting ever.

"_Wow! Fantastic start! You two make a great team!"_


	22. Chapter Twenty One

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, etc. etc. Sigh.

A/N: As always, this chapter is brought to you by the letter H. :) PatiH, that is, my awesome beta. And she loves this story so much that I probably update it twice as often as I would otherwise. So... you know, send kudos her way.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy. Especially Kathy, who asked me so nicely. Lol.

As for those of you attempting to guess the ending... No one has gotten it right yet. Keep 'em coming. :)

* * *

Chapter Twenty One:

During lunch they were… quiet. There was no more hand-holding, but many surreptitious smiles were exchanged as their fingers brushed against each other in the bag of carrots that was resting between their pushed-together desks. They'd always scooted closer to eat, but never quite this close, which meant that their arms and elbows kept brushing too, leaving them both red in the face and a little less than eloquent.

It wasn't until they were moving towards their lockers after a particularly grueling gym period spent alternating between sprinting and high-jumping outside on the track that Gil mentioned their project again. "Did you, uh, want to call Amanda and ask if you can come work on our project, or… W-would you rather wait until tomorrow?"

"No, I'll call her right after I change. I'll hurry. Meet me in the office, by the phone?"

"Sure." He said, looking a little… uneasy. Almost nervous. Sara tried to tell herself that this was a natural reaction. Of course he would be nervous that a girl he'd kissed—and obviously liked—was going to spend more time with him. Not only that, but she'd be in his home. His private space. Grissom had always been a private person, and so it was not surprising that Gil might be apprehensive about inviting her into his world. She committed herself to treading lightly in his domain, and hurried into the girl's locker room to change.

Faster than she'd ever switched clothing in her life, Sara found herself power-walking out of the locker room and up to the office. Technically the bell hadn't rung yet, and so technically she was still supposed to be in either the gym or the locker room, but Halstead would already be holed up in his office with his radio, and she probably wouldn't encounter any teachers en route.

The bell rang just as she was approaching the office, and she picked up the phone with some apprehension, dialing the number to the place she was slowly beginning to accept was one of the better foster homes she'd been in, but could not yet truly be called 'home'. Two rings before Amanda picked up, and then she was speaking a mile a minute.

"Hey, Amanda, it's Sara. Um, Sara… Sidle. I'm sorry to bother you and I know this probably isn't a good time or anything, but I have this science project for my Chemistry lab and I really need to work on it because Friedman—um, I mean, Mr. Friedman—he wants weekly progress reports, and I was wondering if I could go work on it today. After school. Well, uh, right now, I guess. I don't have any homework tonight and I promise I'll be home by supper and I—"

Amanda was laughing, and Sara stopped, uncertain. Her foster-mother's voice sounded like she was smiling. "Oh, Sara, honey. Of course you can. Just call when you're ready to be picked up and we'll send Ryan to get you. Goodness, sweetheart, did you think I'd say no to a science project? Who is your lab partner?"

"…Gil Grissom." She said, hesitantly, waiting for the outcry that was sure to come at the idea that she would be at the home of someone of the opposite sex. Instead, Amanda let out a pleased little hum.

"Oh, Betty Grissom is just the nicest lady. You make sure you mind your manners, now, Sara."

"I will."

She sounded like she was smiling again. "Good girl. We'll see you later tonight."

"…Thank you."

"You're welcome. Bye, Sara."

"…Bye."

She hung up the phone in a daze. She had never had this kind of open freedom in any of her other foster homes. She could have been lying. She could have been going anywhere. But Amanda didn't look at her like the troubled foster brat who was more likely to be a delinquent than anything else. She… trusted her. She… reminded Sara to use her manners, like a mother would. As if Sara's hypothetical bad behavior would not just be the result of a broken child growing into an angry teenager, but a reflection on Amanda personally. …It was like she was taking ownership. She was calling Sara her own.

Sara blinked the tears out of her eyes at the unexpected emotion, and luckily caught Ryan walking with his girlfriend towards the office. Jackie, the girlfriend, stepped to up to the desk to speak to Mrs. Caya, and Sara moved to Ryan. "Hey. I just talked to Amanda. I'm going to work on a lab project after school, so I won't be riding back with you guys."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay."

Sara sighed and turned away. Apparently, Ryan was too cool for her when they were in the school. She had the urge to tell him, the next time they studied, that there was a surprise twist at the end of _Hamlet_ revealing that Ophelia had faked her own death to escape punishment when she realized Hamlet was getting close to discovering her role in his father's death. It would be a difficult impulse to reign in.

She met Gil as he was coming up the steps closest to the office, looking… No, not just wary anymore. He looked afraid. She bit her bottom lip, but he plastered on a smile as he led her down to his bike, and she didn't know whether she should ask or give him space.

He unlocked the bike, and after a couple awkward glances between them, walked it down the sidewalk, gesturing that she should follow him. She had never communicated that she had gotten the go-ahead from Amanda, but apparently he figured she'd have told him if she hadn't. It was quiet, until they crossed the street, off of school grounds, and were no longer surrounded by other students. Sara swallowed.

"You, um… You can ride your bike, you know. I won't be offended, or anything."

He shook his head. "No. That's… Do you wanna ride it? I can walk alongside you, or…"

She shook her head. "Really, Gil. I'm fine. ...How far away do you live? I could probably run it if you wanted to ride, or—"

"You could just ride on the back." He said, in a rush, and his cheekbones were decidedly rosy. "I mean, you know, if that's not weird." Sara blinked, and he sighed. "It's weird. I'm sorry. I just thought—"

"Gil." She stopped him, and he looked rather grateful for it. She smiled. "I can ride on the back. It's not weird." He nodded, looking convinced that he'd embarrassed himself, but she tried to blow it off as if she hadn't noticed his nervousness, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "How, uh… should we do this? You get on first and… I stand on the little screws on the tire, right?"

This spurred him into action, and he nodded, throwing a leg over the bike and half-sitting, half-standing on the bike, holding it steady. "Yeah, hold onto my shoulders and stand on the… Yeah, exactly." He said, a little shakily, as she hopped up, gripping his shoulders tightly.

"I'm not too heavy, am I?"

At that, he laughed and shook his head. "No, Sara. My books are heavier than you." And with that, he pushed his pedals forward and slid more fully onto his seat, bringing his back flush against her chest and stomach. She watched his ears turn an even deeper red, while he cleared his throat. "…E-everything okay back there?"

She smirked, leaning a little more fully against him, feeling her body tighten in response to the warm, solid weight of him against her. "Everything is great."

Conversation was difficult after that. He was exerting enough energy to carry both of them, and their books, and Sara suspected that his breathing might be faster anyway, due to her proximity. She wasn't trying to drive him crazy, exactly. It was just nice to get a little reassurance that she was not alone in wanting to tear their clothes off and be the first people in the history of the world to do it while riding bike. …Would they be the first?

Probably not.

Even so, she wanted to try. She wanted to bend to kiss the nape of his neck beneath his sun-bleached curls. She wanted to lick the salt gathering at his temples and wrap her arms around his stocky frame. Breath in the warm scent of him, rub her cheek across his shoulder blades, listen to his heartbeat speed up as her hands slid lower… She trembled a little, and didn't notice they had arrived at his home until the bike slowed to a stop and he glanced at her over his shoulder, their proximity sending her already-overloaded senses into overdrive. She licked her lips, dizzy with the desire to close the distance, but he spoke first.

"We're, uh… here."

"Oh. Right." She stepped down, stumbling a little, and watched him swing off after her and walk his bike up the driveway.

It was a cute little home, reminding her vaguely of the Brady Bunch, only smaller. It was painted a sunny yellow, with a white porch, and flowerbeds in front. Gil wheeled his bike past the house to a matching garage, and Sara hurried to follow him, taking in the large backyard while he opened the garage and moved his bike inside. There was a greenhouse in the back corner, by the fence, although it looked like it had seen better days. It was the only part of the property that was less than perfectly maintained, however. Beside it was a little white tool shed, and against the back of the house was another white-painted porch, this one housing any number of potted plants filled with flowers of every color.

It was like a slice of idyllic suburban bliss the likes of which Sara had never known.

Turning back to the garage, she saw that the greenhouse was not, in fact, alone in its neglect. A beat-up old station wagon rested beside the car-free garage, and it looked like it hadn't been driven in years. Hadn't Gil said something about fixing up his dad's old car? …This must be it. And judging by its similarities to the greenhouse, the latter must have been his dad's too.

She frowned, imagining the scar that the senior Mr. Grissom's death would have left across this picturesque existence. If Gil had grown up here, he would never have seen such a thing coming. She had taken her father's death as a tragic but not altogether unexpected occurrence. One more step in the endless march of life in the Sidle household. But Gil… Gil would not have been at all prepared.

"Ready?"

He was back in front of her again, and she nodded, forcing a smile. "Sure. Lead the way."

They walked up the back steps, rather than circling back to the front, and he pulled a key out of his pocket… reminding Sara that the garage—and driveway—were empty of the car he'd driven her around in that Saturday night. She glanced around as he opened the door and slid out of his shoes. She tilted her head at the habitual move that surely was a less-than-common move in the 70's, though she couldn't be sure. "…Is your mom still at the gallery?"

"Hmm?" He glanced up from where he was setting his bag on the table, pulling out the previous week's progress report. "Oh, yeah, she'll be home in like an hour. Maybe less. …Uh, listen, Sara, my mom—"

"Are you sure I should be here, Gil? I mean, I… I don't want your mom to get the wrong idea. If she wouldn't be comfortable…"

He frowned, blushing for what might have been the hundredth time that day. "No! No, she-she won't think that. If anything, she'd accuse me of…of taking advantage of you. … I mean, I'm not. That's not why I asked you here. I… I would never—"

She stepped forward, socked feet in line with his, and silenced him with the tips of her fingers to his lips. "I know you wouldn't. I just don't want her to… to hate me, before we've even met. N-Not that we're meeting in an I'm-meeting-your-parents kind of way. Just… I want to make a good impression."

He let out a sheepish grin behind her fingers, taking them in hand, kissing the tips, and pulling them down. He hung on to them, not ready to let go, but did not twist his hand to hold hers, instead keeping his awkward, sweaty grip. "Sara… she's just going to be happy that my lab partner isn't watching TV while I do the report. And… well, the fact that you're a g-girl doesn't hurt either."

She wanted to kiss him then and there for his sweetness. For his sincere earnestness and the honesty in his eyes. But his mother was coming home in an hour—maybe less. She couldn't risk it. Instead, she squeezed his clammy hand in hers and grinned. "…We should get started."


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI, etc. etc.

A/N: Sorry for the long delay between updates. I should hopefully be back to posting more regularly. :) Fingers crossed.

And, as always, thanks to Pati, the very best beta I could ask for, for loving this story, pushing me to continue and make it better, and for so much unwavering support.

* * *

Chapter Twenty Two:

"Baking soda, sugar, and potassium chlorate. …Maybe we should have stopped at the store on the way here…"

He shook his head. "Nah, I've got it all." And he promptly stepped into the kitchen, pulling out the first two and setting them on the table top, beside his books. "I'm gonna run out to the shed and get the fertilizer. I'll be right back."

"Oh, do you need any help? I can—"

"No!" He said, with too much force for mere politeness. "No, I, uh… I've got it. Just… make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back." He slid into his shoes and out the back door too quickly, and Sara frowned at his retreating back. Through the window, she could see him glance behind his back before opening the door to the shed, slipping inside while holding the door close, as if worried she would see what was kept inside. …What, exactly, did young Gil Grissom keep in the garden shed?

With a sigh she turned her eyes on the rest of the home he'd grown up in. Was growing up in. Whatever. The kitchen looked like it was probably new in the 50's, but it was immaculately clean and well-maintained. The table was small. A round, sturdy, wooden thing that she could picture a younger Gil sitting at beside his two doting parents, his feet swinging under the table because they could not yet reach the floor. There were four chairs around it, though she was willing to bet that only two of them were now used on a regular basis.

Opposite the glass door leading out the back was a door that no doubt led to the rest of the house. She was itching to peek around it, to get a glimpse at his living room, his bedroom, his life within his sanctuary. But the risk was too great. Any minute he'd be back, and if he didn't want to share the contents of the shed with her, his bedroom would most certainly be off-limits. The last thing she wanted to do was offend him by being a snoop.

Instead, she slid into one of the chairs, drumming her fingers on the table. It was mere moments before Gil returned, carrying what looked like a large aspirin bottle with him. "Saltpeter. The fertilizer we had here didn't have potassium nitrate, so I went to get some, and found this. Pure potassium nitrate. We won't have to mess around with fertilizer at all."

"Wow. That was lucky." She said, standing up and following him into the kitchen.

His free hand held two pairs of plastic safety goggles, and he passed one to her as he pulled out a rather old-looking skillet. "My mom would kill me if I used her nice pans." He added, with a smile, as Sara slid the glasses onto her face and pulled the sugar canister closer.

Sara grinned. "That's okay. We don't have to worry so much if it's not a nice pan. We're basically just caramelizing the sugar, right?"

"Yeah, mixing the two together. Low heat. We're trying the 50/50 ratio?"

"Yep. Do you have measuring cups anywhere?"

"Yeah, second drawer down, to your right."

Sara dug, and pulled out a half-cup size. She scooped it first into the sugar, pouring the white grains into the pan and closing the canister, doing her best to respect Mrs. Grissom's kitchen. Gil, in the meantime, grabbed the measuring cup and measured out the same amount of the potassium nitrate, and piled it on top of the sugar in the pan, with perhaps a little less finesse than Sara had.

He started stirring them, placing the pan on the stove, and Sara immediately washed the measuring cup at the sink. By the time she'd returned it to its drawer, their ingredients were beginning to melt. Gil offered her the spoon. "Do you wanna stir for a while?"

"Sure." She stepped up, stirring the mixture slowly, trying to be certain they were mixing evenly and not melting too quickly. She knew, of course, that this smoke bomb would be more of a fizzle than an explosion, because the ratio was wrong, but Gil didn't know that. And so she wanted their results to be as accurate as possible, so he could arrive at the conclusion easily. The sooner they got the ratio right, the sooner they could start thinking about colors and the method of dispersal and—

"Sara." His voice sounded edgy again, and she looked more closely at the pan, to see if she'd done something wrong. But no, the ingredients were mostly melted now, and looking a nice caramel brown color. She turned to him instead, and he looked… worried. His eyes were flickering to the glass doors through which they'd come, and Sara followed them. His mother's car was pulling into the garage. …Why would he be afraid of that?

"What's wrong? Should I not be here? Oh no, I knew she'd be upset!"

"No, no, it's not that. It's, uh—" He glanced outside, and so did she. A woman with pretty, reddish brown curls was closing the garage behind her, moving towards the back steps. "I should have told you before this. I tried, actually. But, my mom, is, she's—"

The glass doors slid open, and he immediately stopped speaking, his face red, his eyes shifting restlessly between his mother and Sara. Mrs. Grissom, for her part, looked a little surprised, but certainly not upset. Sara waited for her to greet her son, and probably Sara, too, and then to ask what they were working on. Instead, the woman began… signing. Sara's eyes widened slowly as Gil responded to her, also using ASL, speaking at the same time. "Mom, this is Sara Sidle. My… lab partner. We're working on a Chemistry project. Sara…" He turned his body to her, but his eyes were stuck on her nose. "This is my mom."

Sara's mouth was open a little, and she promptly closed it. What did she do? Did she just speak? She blinked a couple times, but Mrs. Grissom was already signing. Gil translated. "She says she's happy to meet you." The woman signed something else, and Gil sighed, his cheekbones turning rosy. "She's happy to _finally_ meet you."

That seemed to break through Sara's shock. She smiled, a little shakily. "It's nice to meet her—you—too… Mrs. Grissom." Her eyes kept flickering between Gil and his mother, uncertain who she should make eye contact with. Gil signed her words as she spoke them, and it made her feel… on display, kind of. His mother caught her eyes deliberately, and signed a response while watching Sara. Gil once again translated.

"She wants to know what we're working on."

Sara opened her mouth to respond, but Mrs. Grissom signed something else, and her hand movements and facial expressions were insistent. Gil sighed again. "She also said that I didn't tell her how pretty you were."

Sara blushed, but felt a smirk on her lips. Gil was trying to edit his mother, and she wasn't having it. This time, she met Mrs. Grissom's gaze with a little more confidence. "Thank you, Mrs. Grissom. You're too kind. We're working on making a smoke bomb." Then, playing a hunch, she gave a little smile and glanced at Gil meaningfully. "Your son's idea."

At that, she chuckled and signed in a way that seemed more relaxed to Sara. Gil rolled his eyes. "She says that she could have guessed as much." Then, his tone shifted, into speaking rather than translating, but his hands kept moving. "Anyway, we've got a project to work on. No more small talk."

Sara and Mrs. Grissom exchanged smiles at his sweet embarrassment, and Gil pulled the wooden spoon from Sara's hand with a little irritation. "You need to keep stirring." He stirred their concoction, frowning down at the caramel paste, and Sara watched him, a little surprised at his gruff reprimand, but not truly hurt. He was clearly uncomfortable. He was trying to hide it by being snappy.

Mrs. Grissom moved through the mysterious doorway to the rest of the house, and Gil and Sara were left in silence. He stirred, she watched him, thinking. His mother was deaf. This made so much sense that Sara couldn't believe she hadn't figured it out herself, long before this. Grissom could sign, and if his father had been deaf, Gil would have probably stopped signing after his death… and would therefore be out of practice by the time he was in his forty's, storming into offices in deaf colleges and reprimanding his CSIs for their insensitivity. No, it would have to have been someone he knew as an adult, but even then, knowing the person a lifetime made even more sense.

What Sara wasn't sure about, however, was how to break through Gil's annoyed exterior right now. She had never been particularly good at jokes, and so something to the extent of, "So that's what you wanted to tell me, huh?" was probably out. He would glare instead of laugh, and she'd never get her chance with him.

…And the more she learned about him, the more deeply she fell for him. Not because he was the younger version of the man she had loved in what already seemed like another lifetime. But because Gil was smart, and sweet, and sincere. Because he was this good, genuine, kind person under all his self-conscious uncertainty, and because he was super cute and totally funny and made her heart do flip flops when he looked at her with his big, blue eyes.

Maybe sincerity was the way to go. Slowly, with a glance towards the door through which his mother had disappeared, she laid a hand to his back—his hands and arms were busy holding the handle of the pan and stirring their smoke bomb, which was completely melted by now and really didn't need any more stirring. Palm between his shoulder blades, moving up and down slowly, making him jump and turn to look at her with wide, uncertain eyes.

"Your mom seems really nice. …Do you think she likes me?"

She could almost see the wheels turning behind his gaze. She had not called him weird, or gotten mad that he'd snapped at her, or been upset he hadn't told her ahead of time. She was more concerned with whether his mom would like her than with whether she could date a boy whose mom was deaf. A small, somewhat hesitant smile slipped over his lips, and he nodded. "Yeah, I think she likes you a lot."

They poured their mixture onto tinfoil, and washed and dried the pan and wooden spoon side by side while they waited for their smoke bomb to cool and dry. It was still runny after washing their dishes, so they sat down at the table and pulled out their report, Sara writing this time. They couldn't write the results yet, but they could talk about their process.

Once they were satisfied that the first half of the report was as perfect as it could get, they turned to the tinfoil on the counter, peeling off their cooled concoction. Gil dug through a drawer and pulled out wooden matches, and together they slipped back into their shoes and out into the back yard. After a little discussion, they decided the cement of the driveway was safest, and Sara set down their smoke bomb while Gil slid a match along the side of the box and attempted to light it.

As expected, it was reluctant to light. They exhausted more than a couple matches, and then it smoked slowly. …Unimpressively. Gil frowned and shook his head. "Too much sugar."

Sara nodded. "Well, now we know… What do we wanna try next?"

They both jumped at the sound of knocking coming from behind them, at the house. They turned to see his mother peering out the back door. She smiled at both of them, and signed something. "Oh, she, uh… She wants to know if you're staying for supper. But it's… roast beef." He looked horrified that all he had to offer her was a hunk of meat, and Sara felt her heart swell.

"Don't worry about it. Amanda was planning to have me home anyway." She said this to Gil, and then turned to Mrs. Grissom, speaking louder, because the woman was further away, though of course it made no difference. "Thank you very much, Mrs. Grissom, but Amanda's expecting me home soon." Gil signed for her, though Sara was beginning to suspect it was more courtesy than necessity. The woman barely glanced at her son's hands.

She signed again, and Gil translated. "You're welcome, dear. Next time you'll have to stay." She continued past that, but Gil stopped translating for a moment, and Sara understood after a moment that Mrs. Grissom was speaking to her son, rather than to her. Eventually, he turned to her. "She says I should give you a ride home, so you don't have to bother your parents—er, Amanda and Frank, I mean—to come get you. B-but, if you'd rather…"

"No. No, I'd… like it. If you drove me home, I mean."

He grinned goofily, and turned to sign to his mother, while Sara stepped on the still-smoking concoction before them and then picked it up to throw away. They gathered their things slowly, speaking very little, and Sara couldn't help but jump ahead a little, wondering if he would kiss her when he dropped her off. This wasn't exactly the end of a date, but, he _was_ dropping her off. It was a natural time to do so, wasn't it?

They piled into his mom's car, after Sara made sure to tell Mrs. Grissom that it was nice to meet her, and to thank her for letting them work on their project in her home. Mrs. Grissom beamed at that, and Sara felt reasonably reassured that Mrs. Grissom was pleased she was in her son's life. The drive home was… nerve-wracking. No wonder he'd looked so anxious. She was twitching at the idea of him seeing where she lived, slept, ate, showered… and she didn't have a deaf mother he didn't know about. He had been so brave, inviting her over…

But he did not kiss her.

They pulled into the driveway, and Frank peered out the window, his glass of scotch in hand, and Gil's hands tightened around the steering wheel in response. …Tonight was not to be their night. That was okay. That was kind of the point, wasn't it, of young love? They had all the time in the world… even if they were unbelievably impatient for the same reason. "So, uh, I'll… see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow. I, um, liked your mom a lot. And your house. Thanks for…the ride."

"Yeah." He said, awkwardly, and she blushed with equal sheepishness.

She pushed the car door open, and glanced at him. "…Bye, Gil."

"Bye Sara." He said, but he seemed a little more confident now. And when she walked inside, she thought, just maybe, she could feel his eyes on her.


End file.
